


The Wall of Time

by RionaHGoch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Character Death, Child Neglect, Drama, Female Harry Potter, Grey Harry, Horror, Kidnapping, Multi, Mystery, Narcissism, Obsessive Behavior, Orphans, Politics, Possessive Behavior, Powerful Harry, Psychological Drama, Psychological Torture, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Romance, Seer Harry, Semi-Canonical Character, Time Travel, Torture, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 126,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5509238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RionaHGoch/pseuds/RionaHGoch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the last day of 1926 when Tom Riddle was born. Four months after, he would meet his match, and change the course of history forever. Time, they said, it's such a precious thing - when a prodigy is able to see forward time, and a genius is able to use it's power...time becomes a dangerous weapon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: lil'hawkeye3, the awesome (FF.net)
> 
> Disclaimer: For obvious reasons, not mine.
> 
> I'm enjoy bookmarks, comments and kudos

 

Time – the centre of human life. Mankind needs more time than life granted to it apparently. Men and women have always congratulated those that went against time, against aging process, against death. Some people believe that one can only be the result of the time in which one lived.

He was born at the end of the year of United Kingdom general strike, the sixth year of the decade called Roaring Twenties, the Jazz Age. This last day of 1926 brought the birth of a monster, some would say. It was a freezing dawn, the snow hadn't fallen in London yet, but rain had taken over the streets and created a ferocious havoc, something to be mirrored in this child's life. His mother died seconds after naming him for his father and grandfather, before she had the chance to hold her son.

Perhaps the fact that he had never known the warmth of mother would be catalytic in the upbringing of the boy named Tom Riddle Jr., who one day would be reborn as Lord Voldemort, the most feared Dark Lord of Modern Age.

Some tend to think that the foetus, which had lived in the womb of a witch called Merope Gaunt, was already psychotic. If one was to ask Anya Donbyre, the person who most would consider a specialist on the subject, she would deny that theory – if Tom Riddle was born in different circumstances, he would have been a normal boy; after all, everyone has a dark side. It's the environment in which someone lives that brings the worst inside of us. At least, this is what she would like to think.

Yet our story isn't about said deranged child, but about the girl who had the misfortune to hold his affections – though, it would be impossible to say that they had shared a common relationship. She would be known as the person that the Dark Lord would never harm for his pleasure, but also the person he wouldn't think twice of imprisoning just to keep her around. Her name? Anastasia Donbyre.

While characterizing Tom Riddle was a fairly easy task to perform, the same couldn't be said for Anya. The wildfire in everyone's heart, the frosty past everyone carried, the light that attracted all insects and caught the attention of the human behind it, the darkness that lured into your conscience. A girl who held a mysterious openness, who was sincere beyond her lies, sarcastic in her respectfulness. She wasn't a genius like her counterpart, but instead a prodigy. No one knew her true age; to people she was immortal. The only agreement about her person was that she was entirely made by Riddle, and the same could be said of him. Perhaps, if they had never met, nothing would have happened.

Such fatal meeting happened in an autumn afternoon, it was a cloudy day in London. Tom Riddle had completed his fourth month two days before…

The young woman who had lost her husband ten years ago called Cole held the baby that strange woman had popped out at New Year's Eve. It was a difficult baby, if not a bit precocious. She was aware that most babies wouldn't be such a hassle at four months, but if she didn't know better, she would say it had already reached his six months. She remembered her little Willy, who had died when she was still eighteen, and he used to be an easy-going child. The same couldn't be said of it. It was easily upset and it would constantly click its tongue, in a manner that she would sometimes think to be disapprobative. It would constantly cry and throw tantrums. An annoying baby, in fact, nothing like her Willy.

She had recently grown the habit of ignoring the child at nights, like her co-workers did to him and the other children. But during the day it was impossible to do it. It would cry until the other children at the orphanage got moody, like a little demon upsetting the peace. She would take it to the garden and leave it on a bench. Mrs. Cole had gathered that it didn't like to be ignored, or maybe it enjoyed the light breeze. Once she had tried to make it speak to her, as it was supposedly precocious, but it seemed to take pleasure in watching her make a fool of herself in response to its silence – she had never tried again.

She left it on the bench near the walls of the orphanage tiny garden and went to check the gates. Most people who lived in the neighbourhood wouldn't care for the children that lived in the haunted looking orphanage enough to criticize her for leaving a baby alone, but you never knew if a sponsor wouldn't try to take a look previously.

Unfortunately, what she found wasn't exactly a possible sponsor, but an abandoned baby. A new-born girl, wrapped in an ancient-looking cloak. Great, one more child to feed. Sometimes she thought that it was pretty irresponsible to think that only because it was an orphanage they were obliged to take it. Although it was an accurate way of thinking, as everyone would reprove an orphanage that left a kid in front of its gates.

It was silent, but breathing. Oh god, what a useless baby…who didn't cry when someone left you in front of an unknown place just after your birth? Well, maybe the other one would learn with her how to keep quiet.

"Mr. Wool! There is one more to the nursery!" She shouted, carrying the baby-girl in her arms into the insides of Wool's Orphanage.

"Put it with other one." It was the response for the other side of the office's door. "The crib is big enough."

And so she did. She brought a calmer Tom to the indoors and left both of the babies in the crib inside of room 27. If she had stayed for some seconds more, she would have noticed that for the first time in his life, the boy smiled – and the girl tried to copy it, even if she couldn't be older than a few days.

It's interesting how fate works. If those two had never been reunited, maybe Tom Riddle would have been just another neglected orphan. Maybe if fate hadn't given both of them magic, the Wizarding World would never had the need to fear for their lives a short time after the dismiss of Grindelwald. It was possible that if fate had chosen for keep those two apart, nothing would have happened.

Or perhaps, it would have.


	2. Second Hour

Tom Riddle – the freak who should return to the circus from where his mother had come. It was amusing how the children that took joy in gloating about their own statuses didn't have parents either. At least, she thought so. Tom was a little more prideful than her, so he took offense on it and had his revenges, the worse of it, of course, were reserved to those who dared to insult her.

She didn't really have a name. They called her Weird, when they needed, but most of time nobody took notice of her. Not there in the orphanage in which she was just an orphan. Tom didn't need to call her anything, as he had a softer voice reserved only for her. That is, until a fateful day in the middle of 1932.

The United Kingdom was passing through a period which would later be remembered as the Great Depression. That summer, the number of unemployed would reach 3.5 million in their country – and orphans found themselves victims of such situation. Nobody wanted to give a coin to the kind child who offered his hands to garden or sweep; no one would ask for an orphan to carry one's shopping bags to the house – there weren't any bags either. But orphans weren't the worst victims, no: compared to other children, they even had an advantage – years and years of experience of stealing.

Neither she nor Tom stayed a long time inside of Wool's Orphanage. They weren't very welcomed there, so they would just wake-up, perform their chores, eat a tiny lunch and flee from the building to only return to even smaller dinner and sleep. Beginning at age three, this had remained their routine for the last two years, leaving them very skilled in using their powers to steal from inattentive bystanders.

She had a dress she had stolen from a store some months ago – before it closed like many others. It was light-blue and lilac, in a floral pattern; and Tom had a sailor outfit – shorts, blouse and cap – also stolen. They used those clothes when they went to the British Museum and common libraries. Sometimes they would even sneak into the Royal Opera House or other opera houses.

That day in particular, they were in a forgotten library in the West End, enjoying their time free of the rest of the world and reading. She was reading the short of story of Poe, The Black Cat while Tom read the Sign of the Four by Arthur Conan Doyle.

"You don't have a name." said he suddenly, taking his eyes of the book.

"No." She agreed easily, not looking up from her own book. Tom hated when she did that, he was the kind of person that liked to have the attention of those around him – and disliked being dismissed. As you could expect of someone like him, he threw a large tome into her own book, to get her attention. "This is a book of names." She stated. "You want me to pick one?"

He made a face to her. "No, you will pick something disgusting like Mary. I will name you."

"What's the problem of Mary?"

"We are supposed to be the children of Devil, we won't be named after the mother of Jesus, will we?" He inquired, flipping the pages of the book and electing a laugh of her.

"Well, you won't…Mary Riddle isn't very manly is it? But Thomas is the name of a saint."

"Thanks Satan my name is Tom, then."

"You hate your name. And if you continue with this thing of worshiping the Devil, soon people will try to exorcise you." She pointed out. "But feel free to name me. I was getting tired of being Weird." She said, a bit curious about the name Tom would decide to give her.

"Thank you. What do you think of Lamia?" He questioned, taking a look at her face. Oh, she had a pretty face, didn't she? Fair, untarnished skin and soft, delicate features, her roundish almond eyes were of the colour of emeralds, rosy lips and a dark silky mane of hair that reached her waist she let it loose – and not in the low side ponytail which she normally did. But her face wasn't so pretty when she made it ugly in dissatisfaction like now. "Don't make that expression; it's the name of a beautiful queen of Libya. Hera killed her children with Zeus and then she became a child-eating demon that had a serpent tail. We both like serpents."

She stared at him in disbelief. No, she wouldn't be named after a demon, thank you. "Oh, well now that you've explained, Lamia seems like such a good name that I don't want to taint it with my person…pick another."

The girl knew that anyone else saying that would have annoyed him greatly, and she presumed that in a way, she had annoyed him...but the thing with Tom and her was that either she would leave the great decisions to him, majorly, but he had to give in to everything else. It was fun because they rarely had great decisions to make, so most of time he would do what she wanted if she was annoying enough. "Lilith, then." He spoke.

"Lilith? As the wife's of Adam according the Hebrews? The one that left him for Samael? Or as the one that was also called Lamia? No, thank you. What do you think of browsing away from 'L'?"

"Belinda. It means bright serpent." He said, a smirk that no child should be able to create stamped onto his face. Now he was being purposely annoying. She grabbed the copy of Through the Looking Glass she had been reading and threw it at his face. As expected, he stopped the book easily in the air with his will and Alice in Wonderland came flying into her direction from the bookcase. It never reached her as she diverted its route in the middle. Neither of them really understood their powers, but they were pretty funny in those types of moments. "No serpents! You never saw one, don't be so fascinated, they might disappoint you."

"You didn't see it either, who knows. They might be fascinating. Well, then…let's go to 'A'. Amérique? Artemis? Astrea? Aya? Arianne? Althea or Andromeda?" That was better, she supposed. It was still a collection of weird names, but she had never expected a common name from Tom. He hated his own because of the large number of people with it, he would never choose something like Anna. His frown seemed to disappear as his face became clear with an idea. "Anastasia. Your name will be Anastasia Nanash Donbyre."

"It's not my first option." She said, cringing at how it sounded. "Where does it come from?"

"Anastasia means resurrection, it the name of a saint, but she is famous to the Eastern Orthodox so it doesn't matter here. Donbyre I created; it sounds fancy, doesn't it?" At her evident disagreement, he shuddered. "Alright, you can be Anastasia Lynda Donbyre. But I won't back down."

"Should I be careful with Lynda? It's starts with L, you know."

"No need to worry. It means beautiful and that's it." He promised to her. Anya huffed but gave in, tired of that conversation and eager to sink herself in the pages of her book again.

"Alright then, now I'm a beauty resurrected with and weird surname. Thanks, Arawn."

"Arawn?"

"The god of war, revenge, terror and underworld. Your middle name means "I want to inflict damage on," so I thought it fitting." She told him, laughing at the snobby expression his features created when he heard her explanation. "Consider it my payment, and your new nickname." Two weeks later, Anya would discover that Nanash was the serpent of Eden. Tom paid dearly for it.

[]

Billy Stubbs was probably the most disgusting, dumb, obnoxious and pathetic loser he had ever seen, Tom Riddle was sure of it. He was also sure that he would avenge Anya for what that wimp had done to her. Nobody was allowed to touch her; she was his- to be cared, to fight with, to defend, to joke with, and to like. Only his.

Seeing the boy caressing her hair as she helped the adults sewing the holes on their sheets made something strong wake up inside of him. How couldn't Anya notice what was he doing? Tom would have to talk with her about her obliviousness. He couldn't have those boys touching any part of her. Definitely not. He looked at his hand: the single pearl he had stolen from a lady that morning already had an owner, the girl sitting on a stool beside the backyards door of the orphanage.

Anya wasn't as oblivious as Tom thought her to be, although she didn't really care if Stubbs was touching her hair. She had let it loose, so it was kind of expected that someone was glued to it – children seemed a bit attracted by the blackness of it. Then there was the fact that Tom always touched it whole, and not only the tips like Stubbs, so she had gotten too used. Yes, the boy's hand wasn't the cleanest of the orphanage, but the only reason for her let it loose at first was that it would be washed in the next hour. Then there was the fact that Billy irked Tom's nerves…and that was funny.

Teasing Tom had become a habit of hers – and the fact that he always discarded the possibility of it being a tease, well…she found it to be adorable. He was a cute boy, around 4'3" (tall for his age of six), his pale skin contrasting with his jet-black waves of hair. His features were sharp, quite noble, and Anya knew they would become even more; his black orbs were unforgiving. He wore traps, even worse than her dirty white-wool dress but that was expected of male orphans.

As she was saying, cute. Or maybe she had some problems. It wouldn't be a surprise; she had some weird dreams sometimes. They were extremely real and logical dreams – her five senses worked in them, they always followed an order and more importantly, supernatural things would always be present. They were fantastical beings, yes…there were mermaids, centaurs, werewolves and even hippogriffs and flying horses; but they could be real, if those things existed in real life. Maybe they existed…maybe her powers were real magic; or maybe it was just the wishful way of thinking of an orphan and she was just plain crazy. Maybe her powers were only a defence to the fact she couldn't be satisfied by reality – like Freud defended. Since she had gotten her hands into Creative Writing and Day-Dreaming, those ideas hadn't left her head. Anya had showed it once to Tom, but he had dismissed it and assured her that they had powers. Yet that could be his psychopathy speaking…she was fairly sure that all that narcissism didn't come from nowhere.

With a wave of magic, Tom pushed Billy aside and grabbing her bonnet that laid forgotten aside, he wrapped her hair in a bun and pushed it inside the piece of clothing. She hated that wretched thing that screamed orphan, but she allowed him to put it on her, just to settle his nerves. "Any problem?" She asked innocently, knowing that he wouldn't blame her.

"Your obliviousness. How couldn't you notice Stubbs?" He said between his teeth, trying to not attract Martha's attention at the other side of the backyards; after all, he had used his powers.

"I was distracted by work, Arawn. Someone has to work out of the two of us, or they will expel us."

"I don't really think they can expel orphans. They never have, don't be foolish and believe in Mrs. Cole's threats."

"Really, Arawn? People have better things to do than care if two orphans were thrown away by an orphanage."

"That's a given. But Mrs. Cole worries too much about her sponsors. Which is foolish of her, as I assume that her sponsors only sponsor an orphanage to be in the good-looks of society and they don't care about us either…but we won't inform her of that, will we?"

"Well, someone else must have already concluded it, don't you think so, Arawn? I mean, someone intelligent would be able to see it if two children of six years can."

"We are genii, Anya."

It was in that moment that Billy Stubbs decided that he was not to be dismissed by an unknown force and took advantage of Tom's distraction with hers to jump on the younger boy. Anya watched as both boys landed on the ground and Stubbs managed to punch Tom once before her roommate took the lead of the fight and buried his fists in the other's belly, chin, and cheek. They rolled over the grass and the witch was barely aware of the presence of Martha leaving the outside to call for help of a male.

Tom hit the boy's back, but seconds later it was Billy that kicked Tom's crotch, and he writhed in pain. Anya watched in terror as the older boy got up and began taunting Tom. "Oh, here's the Freak! Did the devil fuck your mother to get her pregnant? No wonder she died, freak. At least my parents loved me! How can you look at yourself? You are a disgusting, evil, freak. An aberration of nature. Your mother should be the bearded lady, and shout like a gorilla!"

Anya saw the kick on Arawn's ribs before it happened. No, that she refused to allow. Standing in her feet. Anya slapped the boy on his face, leaving a deep red mark on his cheek. "Don't you dare! Don't dare to touch us. Don't dare thinking of hurting us! You are nothing; you are a weak, pathetic wuss." She told him, making sure to compress the air around his neck.

The purple began to take his face, his mouth open in search of air he couldn't inhale. Oh, she liked that face. The desperation in his eyes, the absolute panic, the fear for his life. She rejoiced in that, because he had begun this. Because he had dared to harm them. "Don't dare to bother us! We are not weak, we are great!"

The steps behind her warned Anya to ease to grasp on his throat, but just for a moment, she couldn't. Then, the moment ended and she held her magic back again, leaving the boy gasping on the grass just in time to Mrs Cole arrive at the backyards and stared at the magical children in front of her. She hugged Stubbs while Anya helped Tom to get up, not expecting any help of the adults.

Adults didn't help children of Devil, apparently.

[]

Anya had always wondered in which kind of world adults allowed a girl and a boy to be roommates – even if they were children. Because of that, Tom had long ago stopped believing that girls had cooties, so she supposed it was good to their education; which didn't mean that most adults would allow it. Well, apparently, those in Wool's Orphanage were an exception to the rule…or maybe, they had forgotten exactly where did the two of them sleep…or they were just dumb and unable to link the facts. Nevertheless, the two of them had always been roommates, in the same bedroom. There was only a bed, so maybe the adults really didn't care if they went off the limits.

Yes, at the age of six, Anya was fairly aware of sex. Too much Freud. She should be the most prepared child for puberty in the world – even more than Tom, as he didn't like to read books on it, and preferred to make his own observations.

She took their sheets out of the bed and wrapped it in a bundle. She liked her sheets clean, which meant take advantage of the sunny days to wash the old sheets and let them dry. Sometimes she would also take advantage of Tom and order him to sew the holes in the sheets while she did others chores. Like peeling potatoes. She hated when Martha ordered her to peel potatoes in sunny days, but that day was a really good day – she only had to distribute some towels while Tom was supposed to be peeling potatoes. He wouldn't – she always made sure to keep Tom away of collective chores like those in the kitchen, as they usually ended with him supper-deprived and moody. He was good a repairing things, though, so she traded things like repairing the roof with other boys. She hated those boys usually and they still called her Weird, but one of them had to be sociable and she always managed to convince them.

She turned in a corner just in time to see Tom leaning on the wall. "Hey, what are you doing here? We are too near Stubbs's room for your mood not to be affected. And I don't like you crusty, you are a hassle." She told him, watching his smirk grow on his face.

"I was leaving a little gift to our mutual friend." He explained, pointing to the rafters.

Anya followed his finger with her eyes and at the end of it, she found a rabbit. A hanged rabbit. Cute. A knife from the kitchens (oops, someone had let Tom near the kitchens) impaled its chest and the rope around its neck was actually barbed wire, similar to the fence at the edge of the backyards.

Anya took a step back, quite shocked with the unexpected corpse. Not that it scared her, she had seen her fair share of heinous scenes at her other life, if she recalled correctly. Seeing the hurt on Tom's face because of her reaction, she commanded herself to whistle and smirk to him: "I bet it wasn't a pleasant death."

The boy hugged her; his satisfaction with her reaction evident. "Oh, it wasn't. It was very easy to convince it that the wire was comfortable, but after the stupid rabbit tried my collar…well, it wasn't that calm anymore. People say that the pets are the similar to the owners, and whoever said that was quite right. I don't know who is the biggest moron, Stubbs or his pet."

"I would say Stubbs, now that the pet is out of the game. But seriously Tom, you need to be more careful. Cole can't abandon us on the streets but she can forget to give us food, or be a bit too harsh with her punishments."

The boy huffed, releasing her from his arms, but still close. "I know, but it was an worthy risk. Stubbs won't bother us anymore."

"Yes, I agree. Just be always careful, okay?"

"Trust me; I won't ever put your life in risk." Anya smiled to him, leaning more into his direction. "Okay, but don't leave a good-wishes card, even if it's tempting." He smirked and said: "I could send it anonymously." This made her laugh.

[]

Mrs. Cole was getting suspicious of him, Tom knew that. He didn't care much about it, there was nothing that the wretched woman could do against his powers but the fact that she was also suspicious of Anya…it unsettled him.

His roommate was also agitated by it, he knew that. There were times that Anya dazed off and nothing could be done regarding it; it could take seconds, minutes, hours, days or even a whole month but she wouldn't be herself during those times. Or maybe, that was a part of her that he still didn't know. Regardless, she was in that state since morning; as she was remembering something long forgotten; something that had happened years ago. Sometimes, Tom wondered the size and variety of their powers…they could levitate objects, or change the colours of things; both of them could manipulate air; he had some sort of connection with animals' minds and he could inflict a mid-pain on those he wished to; Anya was able to change some parts of her appearance, like making her hair or nails grown, she could also appear where she wished in a range of some meters and make their clothes warmer. Once in a while he wondered if she still had one she hided from him.

He didn't like it. Certainly, he didn't tell her everything that he did in his life, but he told most of things that were important. He had named her and she was younger than him, she should confide him everything.

Mrs. Cole had called both of them to her office and now Tom was busy leading his girl to the room. However, he wasn't very eager to enter in it; there was something terribly wrong in the whole situation. The fact that Anya seemed unable to defend herself from a fly, much less from a woman, didn't help encouraging him.

He opened the door, the clean but simple office coming into his sight. He had never been there more than twice, but that had been enough for him to absolutely loathe the place. It reminded him too much of a hospital, and Tom hated hospitals – they made him feel ill and reeked of weakness; besides, Anya was frightened by them. The boy analysed the room. Mrs. Cole and her helper and brother-in-law, Mr. Cole awaited them in the presence of a gangly man who could have been pleasant to look at if he wasn't old and presently didn't resemble a corpse.

"Anya, Tom; meet Father Sebastian, he is going to take care of you two." The woman said in a soothing, patronizing voice that did nothing to reassure them. Instead, it made Tom cringe in disgust – and then panic. To a genius, it wasn't that hard to understand what would happen – everyone believe them to have been hosting demons and things like that; and then there was the clerical. One plus one equals to two.

They wouldn't be exorcised! They would hurt them and he refused to let them do it. What if they were able to take their powers away? What would be of the two orphans left powerless in that wretched world where only strong survived? He couldn't let them to do it! He wouldn't let them!

"Madam, while I glad you worry about us, we will have to refuse to get through such process. I fear that possession isn't our "problem". Thank you for your offer, but we refuse." The words left his mouth as he grabbed Anya's hands and pulled her away.

"I feared this would be your response, Mr. Riddle, so I brought Charlie here to convince you of staying with us." She told them, looking at her brother-in-law. "Fetch them." At the same time the man walked up them, Anya tighten her hold on his hand and whisked them away.

They landed at garden, their bodies hitting the bare ground with a thump and Tom huffed as the air left his lungs. Anya seemed more prepared to it and helped him to sit on the ground, her dazed expression long gone. One of them had to be sane and Tom had obliviously panicked; mumbling things about having to leave and grabbing her things to run away.

"Arawn, look at me." She asked them, holding his face between her hands, her calloused fingers on his cheek. "We have to stay. They will reach us in one or two minutes and we will go through the exorcism. Nothing will change, our powers will still be with us, I promise you. Staying at the orphanage is our only chance of surviving and we both know it. We will be alright when this is over."

Tom stared at her, his eyes desperate with the prospect of being killed by that damaging world. "You can see the future. Did you see it?"

Anya didn't know what he was talking about, actually she had no idea how she knew things would be alright, she just knew. The whole thing was something she would expect in her most real nightmares, but she didn't remember such nightmare. Maybe she had dreamed about it and forgotten. Still, she saw her chance to calm him at those words and just smiled to him. "We will be alright, okay? They cannot take our powers away, no matter how much they try."

Tom nodded and soon after that, Mr. Cole reached them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: lil'hawkeye3 (FF.net), thanks for your work!  
> I always appreciate kudos, comments or bookmarks!


	3. Third Hour

It's said that one is shaped by the events during one's life. Tom had never been the same after the exorcism. There was something extremely humiliating about it, she knew – she had experienced it on her own flesh. The feeling of helplessness, the sensation of dirtiness... in a way, she supposed it was comparable to rape.

Four years between the whole incident and now had seen the boy mature in a man, and the man in a sociopath. Anya watched the development with regretful eyes, but an understanding of the situation that no child should have possessed. She also knew she had changed, yet things like that had always affected him more than her. It hadn't been the only time Mrs. Cole tried to free them of the demons that supposedly possessed their bodies, but the first time was the most gruesome.

To the orphans who had never been near the sea, like them, the English coasts were a disappointment. The grey sea that washed the shore resembled neither the pictures of côte d'azur nor the tropical shores that most of them had seen. But to the two magical children of the Wool's Orphanage, it was a blessing. Anya appreciated the depressing view of the bareness of the beach and immensity of the sea – it was soothing and calm, peaceful and in a sort of way, happy. The rock formations were greatly appreciated by the boy who, although he didn't have any adventurous spirit, enjoyed contemplating the deadly tips of the rocks. As soon as they arrived at the seaside, he had left to explore those, and of course dragged the girl with him. Mrs Cole didn't try to protect them; it would be better if they ended up dead, in her opinion.

They shared a similar opinion of her.

"If you want to jump, but fear is preventing you to do so, please tell me. I can push you." Anya informed Arawn with sarcasm, panting due the race to the top of the cliff. The boy was kneeling at the edge, his body leaning forward.

"Funny, and here I was, thinking that you would miss me if I jumped." He huffed in mock indignation, turning to look at her. "Come here, there is something I want to show you."

She sighed and walked to his side, sitting beside him. "Don't push me." She half-joked, Tom didn't waste his words in answering her comment; instead he preferred to hold her by her left arm. He pointed down, speaking: "There is no need to fear; I'll keep you safe. Can you see it?"

"'He is like some rock which stretches into the vast sea and which, exposed to the fury of the winds and beaten against the waves, endures all the violence.'" Anya quoted, ignoring his question.

"Virgil, The Aeneid. Easy. But I was talking about the cave." The boy answered automatically, annoyed.

"I see nothing. Can you pick something more interesting to do than point at rocks?"

"Make some effort. There, near the mosses. If you see it, I will do something more interesting."

Anya nodded, easily spotting the dark entrance her friend was talking about. Below them, the waves punished the rocks like a jailer whipping a condemned man; the sound of the sea was a rich symphony to her ears. The fresh breeze helped to ease the summer heat. "I see it."

"Seriously?"

"No." Tom groaned in irritation and she grinned at him. "I'm lying. I can see it, I'm not blind, Arawn. But I want my award."

"Thanks Satan." She laughed at that. The joke between the two had never ended, no, Anya had even adopted it. It still irked people's nerves after all those years, which showed how much shit lived in some people's brains. "Very well. 'Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering.' I want to explore the cave."

"I never thought that you would quote a saint, Arawn. Augustine of Hippo, Confessions. But we won't explore it." As soon as she said that, the wizard got up and walked away, just to kneel again near some more mosses. She watched as the boy moved, a bit surprised by the fact that he didn't utter any attempt to argue. "What are you doing?"

Her response was a hiss, a feminine hiss which was kind of familiar. _'What are you doing, human hatchling?'_ Great, now her roommate was training feminine falsettos, this wasn't exactly what she had expected of a psychopath.

Then she saw the thing curled around his neck. Tom had found a snake, an adder, if she recognized from the books. Oh fuck, now he would never stop of talking about snakes, the prat. ' _What did you say, Anya?'_ He asked in his normal, masculine (if not a bit high-pitched, after all, he was still a tenor child). ' _Nothing, you idiot."'_

 _'A speaker!'_ He answered in that annoying voice.

_'Nothing about the idiot? You are losing your sass, and different from you, I still know how to speak normal apparently. Now can you stop the falsetto? It's kind of annoying.'_

_'Which falsetto? The one you are doing, goodness Anya, this voice is disturbing. Don't you use it in my presence. And stop speaking if you want an answer for the idiot…don't you dare to call me it again.'_

_'Two speakers!'_

_'Stop it!'_ Both of them shouted in the same moment the falsetto spoke. Three voices? Now Anya knew she was getting crazy, she was hearing the echo of their voices with a different timbre.

 _"The third voice…is the snake? Snakes speak English. No, they don't. We speak the snake language? This is ridiculous!"_ Tom shouted and for the first time she noticed that they weren't really speaking English.

 _'Oh, shit. We speak Snake Language, and it's not like you and the rest of the animals, we really speak with snakes. That's pretty weird, shouldn't we have bifurcated tongue or something like that to be able to do it?'_ She ignored Tom's repression of her swearing, he did it more than her… just because he thought it was unladylike it didn't mean she would stop. ' _Don't let Mrs Cole know. She will think we are the children of Nanash...'_ she made a face to him, remembering the first second name he had thought to her, and he smiled sheepishly ' _... with the Devil. Well, we have some abilities more powerful than speaking with snakes, I guess.'_

 _'I was right at trying to name you after a snake!'_ He beamed at her and before she could retort his attention was already in another place. _'Now, lady snake. You are a female, right? You are the first snake I meet so I'm not sure.'_

_'Call me Nara, hatchlings. I'm a female.'_

_'Glad to meet you, Nara. I'm Tom and this is Anya. I have some questions, maybe you could answer me? **'**_ The fifty-five inches serpent with light-coloured scales and a darker dorsal seemed to agree with that, her head nodding in a very strange way. _'First of all, do all snakes speak the same language? And if I were to ask you a favour, what would most ask in return? Are species welcoming as you? Have you ever meet another, how have you called it…another speaker?'_

 _'The Serpent Language is spoken by all snakes. As speakers you will always be welcomed and all serpents will hear you. I've never met another speaker, and it is unheard of one since long ago. Still, all snakes know of the power of those who speak with them even before their eggs hatch.'_ A voice interrupted their conversation, an unwelcomed one.

"Hey, Dennis, the two freaks are speaking with a snake!" Amy Benson, a nine years old girl with a pretty face and tiny teeth called her friend – Dennis Bishop, a ten years boy with brunette hair and always dirty face.

"They are crazy! Crazy as stupid schitzos! Don't listen to them, Amy, the Beelzebub gave them life. Mrs Cole already said that! They love it." As the boy reached them and pushed Anya onto the ground, Tom got up. "Isn't it true, you butch? Admit it, Riddle, you wish your whore was a man, you fag." Anya wiped the blood of her lips, moaning from the feeling of dirt on the wound she had made where she had bitten her lips.

"Dennis!" The younger girl floated in the air above the sea, her feet swinging in the air. Tom smirked at that, and Anya couldn't stop the relief that took over her as she made sure that the girl wasn't the only one of their attacker floating. The picture they made should be quite terrifying: two children floating in the air above a cliff, and two other children suspending them – and a snake curled around the second boy's shoulders.

"Low him to the cave, I want to have a talk with them."

"How exactly to you expect us to go down there, Arawn?"

"I trust you with my life. It will be very convenient to you do the same."

"I do. But what if the cave has an exit?"

"It won't."

"How do you know?"

"Wishful thinking." He explained, lowering the girl down to the cave with an ease that most children would never develop. Anya shuddered, knowing that if she didn't lower the boy, Tom would. She was bit more hesitant about risking her own life. They have been levitating each other since the year before, but it wasn't more than some inches above the ground. Once Tom had floated her over a treetop, and she had lowered him from trees twice. It was easier than making her fly, but it still required control.

But doing it with Dennis was easy than she had imagined. He had almost hit a rock at the entrance of the cave, but she didn't care much about his health. She had only to imagine the movement he was supposed to describe that her magic would follow. She knew she was getting better at it, she still remembered the first time Tom had suggested them to try to float each other. Anya had been scared and dropped Tom twice. But he had pardoned her fast, he always forgave her.

The boy stared at her. "You can levitate me first, just don't slam me at the cliff's wall and everything will be ok. I will lower you from there then."

Anya nodded and wished for her magic to raise him on the air, watching as his feet left the ground and his body went forwards. ' _It's kind of fun, floating over a cliff and not falling.'_ He joked, but Nara seemed to disagree. The girl chuckled as the serpent ranted about snakes being born to crawl and not to fly. Tom's body slowly went down, the boy making funny faces to her that could have been very distractive if her magic wasn't as focused as it was supposed to be.

Then she heard a thump and she sighed in relief. Now she wasn't supposed to do nothing, at least. "Are you alright?" She shouted as she heard another thump.

"Yes. I just had to put our friend to sleep. Everything it's alright. You did great. Are you ready?"

"No, but do it anyway!" Now, she thought, maybe teleportation would be better. As she shouted that, she felt her feet leaving the rocks. It was a weird sensation, levitating. The breeze seemed stronger when nothing held you to the ground, and she noticed that the rocks seemed deadlier when just a wishful magic sustained you. It was completely madness, but it was also freeing.

The feeling of being able to do whatever one wanted. The wrong knowledge of being able to flee from wherever you were. It was just a false sensation, but as flying went against the rational thinking – and against the rules of magic, if she remembered well – the human mind went against reason. She laughed at the thought; something supposed to be a thing went against the very same thing.

Her body dropped a bit and she felt joy. The feeling of sinking on the air was incredible and a bit familiar, she had dreamt of it, she remembered. The thrill of falling many feet in the air. The adrenaline of flying. It was like daydreaming, but better than Freud would ever had imagined.

"Faster, Arawn!" She heard him laugh as she approached the entrance and she did a ballet flit in front of him as she landed. "And I thought you feared flying."

"'Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.' I want to go again."

"No, and I have never heard this one."

"Da Vinci wrote on Codex on the Flight of Birds. Please?"

"Where did you find this book? It wasn't in any library." She nodded in agreement, but spoke nothing else. She didn't really know where she had read the book, or from where she had caught it, she just knew she had. "Very well, I guess we will have to go up, anyway. Now, can we bring our attention back to our dear friends?" He asked, gesturing to behind himself. Anya turned to see the two children splattered on the floor, Amy moaning in pain and Dennis unconscious.

Nara slide down his shoulders and wrapped her body around the girl. "Any ideas?" She asked, surveying the cave with her eyes. It was dark blue tunnel with salt crystals everywhere. Not that scary but enough to unsettle most. Stalagmites and stalactites followed the whole path, in a sort of way that gave an enchanted aura to the place. It was quite beautiful, the crystals made everything much more magical than it actually was. "It's kind of beautiful here, I must say. It's a pity that our friends are in such a state, they would love." She continued with irony.

"There is a chamber following this tunnel, Nara went for a walk as I levitated you." He informed here. "It must be even prettier. We can float these two behind us."

That day had taught a lesson to Anya. She still remembered it. The cave was even more beautiful than the image she would have from a cave, but very similar too. The crystals around it where amazing, they reflected a blueish light on the lake of crystal clear water. The sound of the water dripping from the ceiling was soothing, and even the screams of the orphans couldn't disturb the peacefulness of the place – its enchantment.

But that day, Anya didn't learn that things were more beautiful in reality than in imagination. Which be an untruthful thing to learn, she supposed.

She learnt that Tom Marvolo Riddle knew how to choose his torturing places. And that he made good use of them.

[][

They had decided to give themselves a show as Christmas's gift – Anya had desired to watch the Shakespeare's play A Winter's Tale, but when Tom had showed her the tickets to the Nutcracker at The Old Vic, she had given in. Besides, his eleventh birthday would be in seven days; he deserved it.

They had stolen a petroleum velvet dress for her, with some black ribbons to her hair and black slippers; Tom wore a black fur coat which had been sewed by order and paid with stolen money. At ten, both of them looked older than most children of their age; the baby-fat in their faces was never something very noticeable – the diet of an orphan kept all of them slender - but it had almost vanished for now. They could easily pass as the children of some politician or industrial, in their thirteens – enough age to explain their lack of parents.

The ballet was beautiful; the scenery colourful and dreamlike, portraying a world more nonsensical than her dreams, yet immensely gorgeous. The primidone, a girl named Margot Fonteyn, was incredible, more graceful than a petal and lighter than the air; and a charming pointe work.

They had bought a private box near the stage; and Anya took pleasure in leaning onto the border of it and watching the bodies dancing as snowflakes falling from the sky – in harmony and perfectly synchronized. Tom would easily follow the conductor's hand movements – and he did through the whole ballet.

The story wasn't the best – a girl who received a nutcracker from her godfather as Christmas's gift; the nutcracker turns to be the leader of an army of gingerbread soldier who fought against mice and their Tsar. They would then travel to a land of sweets and honour her, who had helped them in defeat the mice. She knew, however, that Tom enjoyed it, probably because of the irony of the girl who took the disliked toy was the one to live the greatest adventure – or maybe because of the royalty, he liked everything that was considered high-class.

They were in the middle of the ballet when she noticed he had gotten bored. "Well, it's beautiful, isn't it?" She asked, trying to avoid his unease.

"It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness." He said, motioning her to sit on his lap. This would be a very strange sight to anyone as there were several seats empty around them. As they were alone, Anya simply compiled his wishes. "Liev Tolstói, the Kreutzer Sonata. But you know what they say about dance: 'together with reading, these two amusements will never harm the world.'" She felt his hands entangling in her hair, as he braided her raven hair with the dark ribbons.

"You are quoting Voltaire at the Dictionnaire philosophique. He was wrong, by the way, the Russian Tsar of twenty years ago would have said so, at least. And probably, Marie Antoinette would disagree as well." He whispered to her.

"Well, if you try to please all, you will please none."

"Truth. Merry Christmas, by the way, Anya."

"I thought we worshipped the Devil."

[][

Anya made sure the white scar on her forehead was covered by her bangs. She didn't know exactly where she had acquired such injury, but she knew it had been a long time ago. The scar wasn't very visible, yet something told her that it was indispensable that she prevented anyone of seeing it that day.

Tom watched as she combed her hair and tied it in a fishtail braid. He knew she was a bit agitated, which would normally mean that something would happen. "You are hiding things again.

"I thought I had permission to hide things." She answered nonchalantly. "You do it and I'm not bothered by it, hence the same could happen in exchange, shouldn't it?"

"I would prefer if you didn't." He stated, shivering because of the cold morning of January. "I'm having my first period and I don't know how to deal with it?" She said, warming both of their bodies with her wish.

"You are not. Don't lie to me, Anya."

"You are persistent, aren't you, Arawn?" She huffed in annoyance. "Well, differently from you, I've chores to perform. I've no idea what are you talking about, and because of that I cannot tell 'the supposed truth'…what can I do that will make you settle down?"

"Don't talk to anyone else today."

"I have chores to do today. I'm pretty sure Mrs. Cole will get upset when I refuse to answer 'Yes, madam' to her." She pointed out. "Besides, I might need to speak on your behalf if you get in a fight, again."

He pondered over which thing he could ask for her for a moment, making Anya regret offering him the opportunity. Tom wasn't the most reasonable guy in the world, and sometimes he could be extremely preposterous. "Very well, promise you will never leave me."

Well, that was better than she thought. A promise, she wouldn't hesitate to promise things to most of people, but to Tom…he took her promises seriously, mostly, too much serious. But instead of refusing, she said: "Easy, where else I would go?"

Yet, as expected, he didn't take it. "Just promise."

"Alright, I swear. I will never leave you, Arawn."

London at the winter was similar to London at the summer – the same greyness, dirty place where everyone from everywhere of the British Empire seemed to gather – with the temperature difference. That was what Albus Dumbledore concluded some hours later, as he arrived in the Wool's Orphanage.

He calmly listened Mrs. Cole rambling, waiting for her to finish as a gentleman should. She was ordering her helper, Martha, and speaking about some of the children. He took his time analyzing the place. It wasn't the worst play to live, he supposed, but definitely not the best either. The walls were dirty, and the furniture old and plain. Much less for two magical children. It was interesting that two wizarding children were reunited in a muggle orphanage, fascinating almost.

Just one of them was already eleven; the other would be in May. Yet, he had chosen that date to introduce both of them to the magical world, as he supposed that two magical children living in the same house would irremediably exchange information.

"Good afternoon." He said, as the matron finally looked at him. He ignored her gaping and proceeded to present himself. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today."

After some time he finally convinced the woman about his intentions there, and that the two children had a place in his school. As they both drank some gin, her much more than him, he asked for the story of the children.

"I remember it clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold, raining, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her in, and she had the baby within the hour. And she was dead in another hour."

"Did she say anything before she died?" The wizard asked. "Anything about the boy's father, for instance?"

"Now, as it happens, she did," said Mrs. Cole, who he was quick to understand that took a liking at speaking about the others' lives as many did. "I remember she said to me, 'I hope he looks like his papa,' and I won't lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty - and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father - yes, I know, funny name, isn't it? We wondered whether she came from a circus - and she said the boy's surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word." She smacked her lips after taking another sip of gin.

"Well, we named him just as she'd said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he's been here ever since."

"And the girl? There is something about her being left at the gates?"

"In fact, she was. I found her at the gates of this orphanage while I was cradling Tom. It's outrageous how some people think that an orphanage is the perfect place to left unwanted babies and go. The boy came up with a name for her, Anastasia Donbyre. Weird, isn't it? Well, I don't know how, but now even our registers recognize her as it. Nobody ever came claiming her either, but most orphans suffer the same fate. There is nothing more about her, though she is quite beautiful, both of them are."

After that, the woman hesitated a bit before relaying some more information about the two children's oddments. The boy seemed to be a bully, with some highly disturbing habits but impressive skills. The girl was quieter than him, not as dangerous as the boy, but to Abigail Cole, she was sometimes depressing, sometimes enchanting – never normal. After that, she led Dumbledore to the pair's room.

Dumbledore observed the two children. They were sat at the same bed, side by side, and he noticed that they could only sat there, as there was only one bed, one stool and one wardrobe at the small room. Both of them held books, the girl held a grey-green book called "The Hobbit", by J.R.R. Tolkien and the boy a book called "Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde" by Robert Louis Stevenson that he recognized as a novel of the nineteenth century.

Both children were beautiful. The boy had dark wavy hair and blue hooded eyes, his face had the shape of a heart, with high cheekbones. He was taller than most boys of his eyes and although his clothes obviously lacked quality, his posture was better than that of most pureblood heirs. The girl had long, soft hair that reached her that reached her hips and wore a simple wool dress and old shoes.

"How do you do?" Dumbledore asked, holding out his hand to the two. When the boy did nothing to take his hand and just stared at it in disgust, the girl easily accepted it, shaking his hand. The man drew up the stool and sat in front of them, as if they were patients and he was the doctor. "I am Professor Dumbledore."

"Professor?" Riddle interjected, his eyes accusing. "You mean a 'doctor'. So, Doctor Dumbledore, what are you here for? Must I assume that she thought it was the time for me to be analyzed by specialists?" He continued, his eyes looking to the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left.

"No, no." The older wizard denied, a calm smile on his lips.

"If Arawn's skills at deducing have failed, Mr. Dumbledore, can you explain why exactly you are here? A professor, you say. But what kind of professor visits an orphanage? You have no wish to adopt us, that is very much obvious about you, at least." The girl took over, her smile matching his own, but hers much more false. "The question is: Who are you?"

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school - your new school, if you would like to come."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dumbledore. But I fail to see why a professor would offer we a place in a school, there are many others orphans. And mainly, I fail to see what kind of madman would call a school Hogwarts. You are from the asylum- this can be the only reason for Mrs. Cole to be so welcoming of you." Riddle argued and Dumbledore had to concede – most of muggle parents also questioned the name of the school.

"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently. "I am a teacher and I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you…"

"I'd like to see them try," Riddle interrupted with a sneer.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Riddle's last words, "is a school for people with special abilities…"

"I doubt she accepted this explanation" The boy pointed out.

"There is no need for her to know. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people; it isn't an asylum as you say. It is a school of magic."

"Magic."

"Yes, have your ever done something out of normal? Out of most people can do?"

"Magic is believing in yourself, if you can do that, you can make anything happen, Arawn." The girl added. "Haven't I already told you this?"

Dumbledore nodded in appreciation of the girl's phrase, but it was Tom who responded. "Goethe told me this before you did, actually. What can we do is it called magic?"

"What can you do?"

"All sorts of things," he said with some kind of pride. "I can make things move without touching them, I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad incidents happen to those that annoy me, I can make them hurt."

"I can levitate the objects I wish to; I can change part of my appearance. I can change colors and sizes of things. I can warm myself when I feel cold. I can appear in places I want to." Anya continued in the same peace.

"I always knew I was different." Tom ended.

"Well, you are quite right." Dumbledore said, the smile had vanished from his lips, but his eyes were studying the two children in front of him. "You, Tom Marvolo Riddle, are a wizard. And you, Anastasia Lynda Donbyre, are a witch."

"Are you a wizard too?"

"Yes, I am."

"Prove it," said Riddle at once, in a commanding tone that wasn't the same he had been using until now.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts…"

"Of course we are!"

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.'"

As the boy flushed, the girl smiled peacefully to him. "I'm sorry, sir, for our eagerness. But proves are very important to us. Trust is something valuable, and because of that, it cannot be easily given."

With a flick of the stick that she assumed to be a wand, the wardrobe burst in flames. Tom immediately got up to retrieve his things – he liked to steal all things he could; and she wasn't that better. Small trinkets, most of them, but also clothing, books and food. She would have rushed to the wardrobe, but somehow, she had the feeling all her belongings were safe.

It was a purely instinctive belief still, she trusted it. Hours later, she would reach the conclusion that logic could have told her this if they had more time – how frequently a teacher burnt his students' belongings, after all? Nevertheless, they could have thought of that – they hadn't, but they could. As it had happened, it was just a giant Deja-vu – the whole teacher appearance that's it. A long white-beard, for some reason, popped out in her mind and half-moon spectacles. Even the name Hogwarts sounded familiar.

_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts, teach us something please…_

She had been right. The man extinguished the fire quickly, leaving an unburnt wardrobe behind, with their belonging intact likewise. Still, knowing that the books she had taken out the library and stolen; her few pieces of clothing and the small stock of food she always had could have been burnt; it wasn't that funny. If the fire was real, if the incantation was wrong, the flames could have consumed all their possessions. She didn't really care for the small trinkets Tom had stolen – her two gifts were all that matter and they were secure on her necklace – a pearl and a crystal from the cave. Yet, it didn't make her image of the man in front of her better.

She ignored Dumbledore as he gave a moral lesson on Tom, and explained about the Hogwarts fund. They would steal, anyway, and Tom would be the one concerned with the money, as he never let those decisions to her. "You are coming with us?" Tom asked Dumbledore on the Diagon Alley matter.

"Certainly, if you..."

"There is no need, sir. We are quite used to doing things on our own." She interrupted. "But if you could please explain how to get there…"

Dumbledore then proceeded to explain how to arrive at the Diagon Alley and soon, they encountered Tom's name issue. "You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

"There are a lot of Toms," muttered the younger wizard. Then, as though he could not suppress the question, as though it burst from him in spite of himself, he asked, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."

"I'm afraid I don't know," was the old man's response, in a gentle voice.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," the boy concluded, more to himself than Dumbledore. The way of thinking didn't surprise Anya, he had shared it a long time ago with her. "It must've been him. So, when I've got all my stuff, when do I come to this Hogwarts?"

Not much later, Dumbledore left them alone and in his place, he left the promise of a magical world. During that time, neither of them spoke of their flying abilities. Or about the fact that they were both parselmouths; it hadn't seem to be recommended. Yet, Tom glared at her.

"You knew he was coming. You had been walking on eggshells through the whole day."

"I admit now that I had a sixth sense telling me something would happen today. I had a dream with it, actually, but I didn't know it would really happen."

"Has something similar happened before?"

"Nothing so precise. Sometimes, I get the impression something will happen, or that I already know a place or other. The cave, for example. You know the first time we went to King's Cross? I stood there between platforms 9 and 10, and I knew there was something else. I had the impression everything started there. And if Dumbledore is telling the truth, maybe I was right. And I feel he was telling the truth. Is that weird?"

"I suppose that considering that magic is real, it cannot be impossible. It sounds as if you can predict the future in some sort of way, we should go to Diagon Alley and look for some books about it. Don't worry, Anya. Everything will be alright." He assured her, and even if the girl could see the greed shinning in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her, Anya chose to ignore it.

After all, she knew with whom she was dealing with, trust could be something valuable, but she trusted her knowledge about the ground she walked on. She trusted her observations on Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: lil'hawkeye3 (FF.net)
> 
> I really like kudos, comments, and bookmarks!


	4. Fourth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not mine. Happy New Year if you follow the Gregorian Calendar.  
> Beta: lil'hawkeye3 (FF.net)

The station of King's Cross was crowded with many different kinds of people, from old grandparents watching their grandchildren entering on the train, to babies saying goodbye to their old brothers and sisters. Anya wore common wizarding robes, as did Tom. As soon as they had arrived in Flourish and Blotts, the wizard boy had discovered about blood hierarchy – which seemed of great importance to most of the wizards. They had purchased the school materials with the Hogwarts funds and then Tom had stolen some galleons of passers-by – it was much more difficult to steal from wizards as they had to be more careful with their magic, they concluded, but not impossible.

After that, Tom had decided that they should at least disguise themselves as half-bloods, and because of that, each of one of them had gained two robes – the best that their theft prey could afford. The man had lost a large sum of money, apparently, and now she was the proud owner of two velvet gowns. The one she wore was made of velvet silk and had trumpet sleeves and surplice neckline, it was an ugly yellow colour when she bought, but she had made it dark green with a simple flick of wand. It was rather formal, but she didn't seem out of the crowd there. The other was made of hemp with hanging sleeves and an asymmetric neckline, and was of a maroon colour – even more formal. When she had argued with Tom that she would be unable to use them every weekend, he had stolen more money from a muggle and they bought some knee-high dresses for her and a simple cloak.

Tom had preferred a high-necked dark robe – the one he was wearing – and another whose overcoat had hanging sleeves similar to hers. He had also bought some fitting wool jackets and cotton trousers – all of them dark.

In short, they didn't look like orphans, and much less muggles. Tom was satisfied.

Still, no one came to say goodbye as they entered inside them train, so you could forget about the orphans statement. Anya didn't care much about, she had lived her life without parents, and she wouldn't miss them after her whole childhood. But she knew that Tom still hide a bit of jealousy in his heart, he had lived his whole life as an orphan in middle of several, but now in Hogwarts, it would be different. She touched his shoulder gently.

"We should find a place, soon people will start arriving." They had been one of the firsts to enter in the train, so it would be easy to find a place. And indeed, it was easy. They found the perfect compartment, private enough and faraway of the place the most loudly kids started to gather. They easily levitated their trunks to the places and sat down, Tom with Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy in his hands and Anya leaning over The Decline of Pagan Magic.

Soon after that, the door of their compartment was opened, revealing two dark haired children that seemed to be of their age. They seemed to be brothers, as both of the boy and the girl had sharp features and full lips, their main difference being the eyes – while the boy's were almond shaped and grey, the girl's were downturned and hazel.

"Excuse us, may we sit with you?"

They were obviously purebloods, and that was enough reason for Tom. He smiled pleasantly to them, saying: "Of course. I'm Tom Marvolo Riddle, by the way. And this is Anastasia Lynda Donbyre."

"We are Orion Arcturus Black and Dorea Lyra Black, it's a pleasure." The boy introduced themselves. "Although, I must say: I don't remember any Riddle, have your parents taken a leave out of England?"

"My father chose to remain out of our world when I was born," he explained, the grief taking over his features, as if his mother died giving birth to him, which wasn't a lie. "I have lived at the countryside as long as I can remember, father didn't even come today, and he preferred to say his farewells at home. My grandmother had the misfortune of marrying to half-blood at the middle of the last century."

"My sympathies, please, ignore my nephew; he doesn't know the word tact. And you, Miss Donbyre. I'm almost sure I have heard about your parents. They are foreign, aren't them?" The girl, Dorea, asked with a smile.

Anya responded the smile of to the girl, which wasn't forced, as if she was smiling in relief. Sure, she had a lie planned if they really inquired the origin of her parents, but everything sounded more believable if the girl simply assumed. Of course, there weren't any Donbyre overseas, and the Black girl had never heard of any Donbyre – that was only her brain guessing her surname to be foreign, and trying to convince itself that she was talking to a pureblood. It was very common in social talks to guess the origin of someone without knowing – sometimes you were right, sometimes you were wrong.

"Indeed, they live in Austria. But I have spent most of my childhood at Tom's; Mrs. Riddle was my mother's cousin, and mother found that her cousin-in-law and nephew deserved a feminine presence on their lives. But you said you were aunt and nephew?"

"Technically, my grandfather is the brother of her father. She is my cousin-aunt, or second-aunt. But I'm older." Orion explained. "I don't know about other families, but it's quite common at ours. My real uncle is one year older than us."

"I guess it isn't that impossible…Mr. Black?" Tom asked.

"Call me Orion, please, there are too many Blacks in the school. You can call Dora by her name, too, she doesn't care."

"And I will call you Nastya; it's a nickname to your name, isn't it?" Dorea asked her, receiving a nod as response. "What were you reading?" As they showed their books, the girl grinned. "Oh, I love those guides. But I have never read yours, Nastya. Is it new?"

"Bathilda Bagshot just launched it. It's quite interesting; she is a very promising authoress, I must say. Most of the Old Ways are already dead and buried, with excuses of its dangers; the culture of Morgana and Merlin thrown in trash. Finally, someone wrote how revolting it is."

"I will have to read. I heard my sister saying that she has just begun to research the magic of the late century, I'm quite interested to read about it."

"You will have to wait; I heard Ms. Bagshot has been researching about paganism for over a decade; and that she has an ongoing project about the history of Hogwarts since the first years of this century." Tom commented, with an ease that nobody could ever imagine that he had just some months to learn about the whole wizarding society.

The door opened again and a boy with silver blond hair walked in, followed by a lanky boy with shoulder-length auburn hair. Both of them seemed awfully familiar to her, but she didn't know from where. Maybe her dreams again? She would have to tell Tom.

"Orion, so here is where you have hidden. Your cousins were looking for you. Well, I don't blame you, I would also prefer the company of such a beautiful girl named…" the blond guy bowed to her and Anya could hear Tom growling beside her. She chuckled with mirth at his reaction and answered: "Anastasia Donbyre, oh such handsome knight and hello, unnamed faithful squire."

The auburn boy shook his head in dismay. "I'm Ragnar Lestrange and this flashy chevalier is Abraxas Malfoy, the what, twenty-fourth of his name? Hello again, Orion, Dora."

"It's the twelfth, even I know that, Ragnar." Orion corrected. "Nastya has already presented herself but the handsome man that accompanies her is Tom Riddle. I didn't ask before, but Tom is the short for something?"

"Tom. My father wasn't the best at picking names. Or maybe it was his revenge-- his name wasn't the best either."

"What was his name?" Dorea questioned and Tom snorted.

"Also Tom. Now take your hands off Anya, Malfoy, she is eleven. Anya, come here."

The emerald-eyed witch rolled her eyes but moved out of her place to sit beside Tom, her head leaning on the wall and her legs on his lap. When he raised his eyebrows to her behaviour, she just shrugged and answered, "Deal with it," making the others snicker.

She wanted to groan. She was pretty sure she would receive a lesson of how rolling her eyes and crude commentaries were unladylike. Tom was becoming more and more an aristocratic arse every day.

Their ride was quite entertaining. With their compartment full, they talked about books, their families and everything in between. It was easy for Tom and Anya to lie, and they were great at doing it. Orion and Ragnar seemed addicted to exploding snap; and Tom took great delight in making Malfoy lose in all his attempts to win a wizard chess game. As the two only girls, Dorea and Anya spend the most of time talking, but they played some chess too. But Dorea preferred senet, and so they played it two times, and tried a bit of Go with a keyboard a upperclassmen lent them. Neither of them was successful at the second.

As rich purebloods, the boys essentially bought the whole candy trolley and shared among them. She secretly loved the liquorice wands, and the fact that the only Bertie Bott's Beans she ate was apple flavoured made her day happier – she loved green apple gums. Tom wasn't that lucky with his salmon bean, and neither were Abraxas with sardine. Orion took the best and the worst – coconut, that was said to be great, and vomit; and Dorea only accepted one – bacon. Ragnar took five in one time, and he could only say that it tasted good.

Her chocolate frog almost escaped, but Tom held it for her as she took a bite with a hum. Her card was Queen Maeve, a witch that trained Irish young sorcerers before Hogwarts was created. Seeing Orion's wishful gaze on her card, she offered the thing to him, which he accepted gladly.

When they were almost arriving at Hogwarts, the two girls ushered the young wizards out to change their robes. They walked out between laughs and mock whines, as Dorea made a fuss of pushing her nephew.

Dorea and Abraxas embarked into the same boat of Tom and Anya, while Orion commanded them to keep his cousin away and dragged Ragnar to a boat with other pureblood first-years. The view of the great castle amazed many of the students, and the emerald eyed witch could see the ambitious glint in the eyes of boy who would become the most feared Dark Lord of the modernity as he surveyed the castle and realised that it was to be his home.

[][]

"Avery, Andros!" Anya watched as boy with a long grey-blond hair tied with a bow in a low ponytail was sorted in Slytherin; making the students with green ties clap. The other students watched the newcomers with an unsettling interest; a girl beside her gave a sigh of relief catching her attention.

"My sister managed to convince me that we would have to fight against a manticore; I know, it was foolish of me." The girl explained. "I'm called Eoessa. Eoessa Law Cadogan. Great, isn't it? Call me Law, for goodness' sake."

"Anastasia Donbyre. But people have been calling me Nastya since this morning."

"Cool. Look, Professor Dumbledore is calling the 'B's; how many Blacks will be in this year. Euphemia, my sister, said that there are three Blacks in her year in Slytherin. She is a Gryffindor, Euphie; so she doesn't like them very much."

"I think it's just two Blacks this year. Dora and Orion. They are very lively."

Dumbledore shouted her name and the girl flushed, before walking quickly to the stool and sitting. She went to Ravenclaw.

"Who was that?" Tom asked, as he approached her. "Law Cagdon, as you must know considering that you watched her very carefully as we talked and she was sorted. She has a sister in Gryffindor called Euphemia."

"Not the best to be associated considering that our target is the Slytherins…well, she is in Ravenclaw so it should be ok." She rolled her eyes. "Don't do that, it's unladylike. I still cannot believe that you did that in front of pureblood nobles."

"Dora was shouting and mocking everyone. I rolled my eyes."

"Well, she is the noble, isn't she? Everything she does fits the behaviour of a noble because she is the noble. We cannot afford the luxury of being improper. I just meet some boys that would consider you vulgar by acting how you have been this whole day."

Anya looked in his eyes, disbelief portrayed on her face. "Vulgar, Tom? You talk as if I was some kind of whore. Do you think I'm a prostitute, Tom?"

"Of course no, Anya. And don't call me Tom."

"Donbyre, Anastasia!"

"Well, Dumbledore is calling me. We will talk about it later."

But they never talked. And as she waited on the Slytherin Table beside Dorea, for Tom's sorting, Anya couldn't stop to ask herself when her former enemy had become a constant presence on her life, and why she had accepted him as it.

[][]

A hall full of candles floating over the tables, and hundreds of children speaking loudly while eating. They wore blue, black or furs, and spoke several languages. Everyone seemed excited, and the talk was music to one's eardrums. At the middle of the hall, a goblet of heavy hewn wood, with blue flumes up the edges. Names were called from it, and suddenly, hateful glances followed her steps. And from the goblet, dragons flew away accompanied by mermaids, sphinxes and giant crabs. She wasn't in the hall anymore, but in a graveyard, she could almost read the headstone…and a corpse at her feet. Pain and ghosts surrounding her, masked men at the edge of the circle.

The image changed again to a bathroom, and a tunnel, and a statue. And a serpent, and a injury, and a bird, and a hospital..a madman in a hospital, signing photos of himself. And a candy wrapper. A judgment, something about torturing, about a mark, a mark with a skull and a serpent.

They called it dark. Dark Mark.

[][]

Anya woke up sweating in her bed. She had to wake Tom, he would want to know about her dream. Since the day Dumbledore had visited the orphanage, she would always share her dreams with him, even if they seemed meaningless. The fact thathai seers really did exist, but were very, very rare, seemed to have fascinated Tom. He would always ask for details of her dreams, and he had already given her some books on Divination…none of them seemed to work so far.

But as she reached to wake her roommate up, she remembered that Tom was no longer her roommate, and that they were in Hogwarts. Stretching her body to a grab a notebook on her bedside table, the girl quickly wrote the parts of the dream she recalled, to show him later. In doing that, she seemed to have caught the attention of her roommates, because soon her dark velvet hangings were pushed open to reveal Dorea's face.

"Good morning, Nastya, rise and shine. You have already enchanted all boys with your beauty, you don't need to do it with your sleepiness."

"Moreover because they would be most likely disgusted." Anya groaned, getting up of the bed, and checking out the time with a Tempus charm. Ten at the morning. Alright, maybe she had got a little tired over the travel, but she would have to rise earlier for class in the next days.

Although they had arrived in Hogwarts at Thursday, they would only have classes at Monday. The first three days were to help them to explore the castle; and although Anya wasn't what you would call adventurous, she was eager to. She chose a light ivory cotton dress with sleeves that reached her elbows and a pair of black boots she had stolen many years ago. She looked to her two roommates and was glad that they didn't seem to wear something very different. Dorea wore a one-piece robe that reached under her knee and the other girl wore a conjunct of a sweater and a skirt that was quite muggle – the short cloak being the wizard aspect. Anya took her own cloak, a simple exemplar of dark wool embroidered in grey dated back the beginning of the century, which reached her ankles.

There were only three girls of her year in Slytherin, and their dorm was rather spacious. The room was made of cold black stone, the ceiling was decorated by rib vaults. The gothic long windows had dark green draped curtains and two stone snakes were wrapped in the columns of the alcoves that held divans of a pale green. Medieval tapestries about the Hunting of the White Stag covered the walls. Anya sat on her ancient four-posted bed with green hangings, watching as her roommates hurried in dressing themselves. She had no idea what was the Hunting of the White Stag when Dorea had commented, but it seemed interesting to research.

Their other roommate, a pink blonde short-haired girl with blue eyes and tanned skin sat in one of the divans. "I'm sorry I didn't present myself to you yesterday; I was too tired." Anya nodded, easy-going. "My name is Brianna Gagwilde."

"Dorea Black. She is Anastasia Donbyre. Are you related to Brian Gagwilde, one of the firsts headmaster of Hogwarts?"

"Indeed, though I wouldn't be able to say how many generations are between us. Maybe my father can. I won't ask if you are related to someone…the Blacks must be one of the most famous families in the wizarding world. I only have my parents, my little brother and an aunt as family."

"It's sad how many magical families are disappearing nowadays, don't you think Nastya?"

Anya gave her a benign smile, and picked her book. "I suppose. I wouldn't know how is to live in a huge family, though. Do you want to come to the common room-- Arawn must be pulling out his hair that I still haven't appeared."

"Who is Arawn?" Dorea asked, as they walked out of their rooms.

"Tom."

"Are you and Riddle engaged?" Anya gagged as she heard her question. "What? It's entirely possible. Orion is engaged to my real niece, Walburga. She is a year older than us. Most of my cousins will leave Hogwarts married. Charis will marry Caspar Crouch, and Callidora is engaged to Harfang Longbottom since she was five. Uncle Arcturus is very fast in making engagement arrangements." Dorea told them. "The same cannot be said of father. If it was in his way, I would be an old spinster as Cassiopeia."

"Isn't your sister just twenty-three? Many marry older." Anya pointed out, walking into the common room. She knew who Cassiopeia Black was, she had read in some old journal, in the social column, about her.

"As I said…a spinster. And you, Brianna, do you have a fiancée?"

"We are rather inmates, so there aren't many offers until now. Mother thinks that I attending Hogwarts will help to divulge my dowry…"

"Anya!" A voice called behind her, interrupting the girl. But the witch whose name was called knew very well who was calling her even before Tom came into her view. "Ms. Black, and who would be this beautiful lady?"

"Arawn, this is Brianna Gagwilde. Brianna, this gallant boy here is Tom Riddle."

"Your fiancé! Mr. Riddle, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Tom smirked as Brianna called his partner in crime his fiancée. "The pleasure is mine, Ms. Gagwilde. And as much your statement is pleasant to my ears, I fear Anya would kill me if I allowed this delightful misconception to continue."

"Thank you, Arawn. As I already said, we are not engaged." The two others girls looked so dejected at her deny that Anya had to wonder if they would be always talking about romantic relationships – she certainly hoped not, her conversation with Dorea the day before had been much more pleasurable. She didn't hate the subject, and Tom's possessiveness of her was obvious to anyone who stayed in their presence for more than some minutes, so she guessed it was unavoidable – which didn't mean she would welcome it.

"This matter aside, I want you to meet some people, Anya. Are you going to have breakfast? I already have, but we could meet here after that."

"I am not very hungry. We can do it now if it's acceptable."

"You should eat. You barely ate yesterday."

"Tom." She said in a meaningful that made obvious they wouldn't be talking about her eating habits.

"If you prefer not doing so… Very well. Miss Black, Miss Gagwilde, I'm sorry to say that I will have to steal Anya from you." As soon as the two girls left them alone, Tom took her arm and dragged her out of the Slytherin Dormitory.

"Now, I want to know how your first night was." He requested, guiding her through the passageways.

"Dorea has already fully accepted me; she is the smart aristocrat kind of girl, with a soft spot for books and a bit of a gossiper. Brianna is a social climber, too, of the sweetest kind."

"Great. They wouldn't be the ones I would recommend to be your friends, but I guess they fit their roles."

Anya snorted in amusement. "If everything was in your way, I would have no friends, Arawn. Who would you recommend to me be friends with if not my two fellow female class and housemates? Admit it, you want to keep me for yourself." She teased, her amusement growing even more as Tom made an effort of hiding his embarrassment. He was obviously successful, but she still could imagine a pink flush at the tip of his ears.

They were almost out of the dungeons when he pushed her into a small cupboard and locked the door with a wave of his wand. The witch took her own wand – her old wand – and with a wordless lumos and a muffiato, the place was light as day and silent to everyone who walked near there.

"So?"

"Nothing. They suspect of nothing. As soon as the Blacks believed in us, we became purebloods to the remaining of Slytherin. Have you ever been that good in lying? Well, it doesn't matter. To them, my father is Tom Riddle Senior and my mother's name was Elda. She died giving birth to me, and since then my father became an antisocial man living of his family fortune. There is no reason for him appear in the society. Your parents are even easier, Harisa Donbyre and Sigmund Donbyre. Your family has made a fortune in music – merpeople's choirs and everything else. You have been living with me since you were five, and you don't have many memories of them. You are the spitting image of your mother, but you have your father's eyes. I resemble in nothing my mother."

"You can see that our plan has many flaws, yes? We cannot invent another wizarding name without getting suspicious, and if one of their parents went to Austria, they won't find any Donbyre, or whatever the name we pick to my mother's family name. If they speak of a Riddle to their parents, they will tell them that no Riddle has ever studied here. With four generations of wizards being called Riddle, they are supposed to appear somewhere."

"Recluses. After the whole name getting tainted by a muggle surname, they tried to avoid the wizarding community. My father was home-school, as my grandfather also was. My father wanted me to experience what we couldn't, and he had promised to your parents to send you to Hogwarts anyway."

"Really, Arawn? I don't find it very believable."

"It doesn't have to be, we just have to act is if it were. Being ashamed of the surname and everything else." Sometimes Tom really surprised her, that was one of those. Indeed, they had agreed to lie about their identities as nobody powerful in the Wizarding World seemed to held muggleborns in high-esteem; she had thought some lies about the identity of her parents, and Tom had done the same to his…but he had taken the thing to a whole other level. She could write a whole novel to cover their fake-families' past and Tom's skills as an actor would make everything believable.

She wasn't bad either, although she wasn't going to win any Academy Awards for it. She would mostly go with the flow and act as people expected her to act in a certain situation. But Tom? He could write a whole romance with just an expression. It was very freaky, considering that he didn't have many expressions when he wasn't acting. "Seven years, Arawn. Can we sustain this lie for seven years?"

"I know. I need to find out who my mother was soon. I cannot be a mudblood, can I? Or you, by the way."

"I don't know. Have you ever thought that maybe you are looking wrong. An extinct family, it would have to be, or someone would have claimed you. Or maybe with just one or two survivors."

"Your seer abilities are telling you this?" He inquired and she nodded in response. "It's just an impression, but you never know." His eyes shined with something and she could hear the gears moving in his head, archiving that information to a next future. He would search over it, and he would find it.

"This matter aside, even as purebloods, we are nobodies. There seems to be a rather traditional system working inwards our house. We lied about our blood-statuses because we knew that no house would fully-accept us as muggleborns, and we don't know who of our parents had wizarding ancestry so we wouldn't be able to say we are half-bloods. In Slytherin, even then they wouldn't have accepted us so it was for better. Yet, even as purebloods, we won't be more than part of the majorly."

Sincerely, Anya didn't care much about the fact she belonged to the majorly, but she knew it was something disturbing to Tom. She could see his point though – even though he was a genius, he wouldn't receive the awe he deserved so soon. Narcissist to the hell as always. "Speak, Arawn."

"In the outside world, there seems to exist a hierarchy of families. The Noble and Most Ancient Houses occupy the top of it; those are the Blacks, the Lestranges, the Malfoys, the Longbottoms, the Burkes and the Selwyns. Then there is the noble houses; the Macmillians, the Notts, the Greengrasses, the Doholovs, the Flints, the Ollivanders, the Crouchs, the Slughorns, the Rosiers, the Gaunts, the Zabinis and the Parkinsons. And at the bottom of this aristocracy are the ancient houses: the Potters, the Weasleys, the Prewetts, the Fawleys, the Carrows, the Averys, the Abbots, the Bulstrodes, the Rowles, the Shacklebolts and the Yaxleys. Then there are the common purebloods, like the Cuffes, the Lovegoods, the Princes, the Browns, the Moodys, the Goyles, and many others. To them, we are here." He showed her a list and with some curiosity, she noticed that some names were scratched off, like Peverell. "What's with those?"

"Extinct families. The Peverells are extinct in the male line, according A Wizard Genealogy, but nobody knows who descents from them. The last Max died fifty years ago, her name was Ella Black, née Max. The same happened to Magenta Trippe, the last of her name, who also married into the Blacks. Apparently, they like to collect fortunes of other's families. Back to what I was saying, after the pure-bloods, is the half-bloods and the half-breeds, and then the mudbloods. After that, comes the squib, and after them, muggles."

"A pretty harsh system, similar to the castes in India, I would say. Thank you for the overview, 'half-breed' is a pretty prejudiced term to mixed heritage, isn't it? Don't you feel a bit weird using it and 'mudblood'?"

"I'm a pureblood, I'm supposed to call them like this, Anya." Tom cut her quickly. She knew he was getting a little angry as that was the second time she interrupted him. Oh, he was too much of a hothead, she supposed. But he was eleven years old, what did she expect? "Now, in Slytherin. The upperclassmen seem to rule over their juniors, which I quite expected. Slughorn has some favourites, and has a club to them – the Slug Club. Extremely useful, and the same could be said of the Quidditch Team, but that it's something to think about in the next year…for now we just have to excel in potions."

Anya rolled her eyes. "I know what I have to do, Arawn. Charm everyone – it isn't something I have never done."

"No. I want you to lay low. You can do well in classes, of course, but this is a heavy system and our house head doesn't care much about anyone else except his favourites. So become one of them and accompany me to the meetings, but don't pick fights. I will take care of everything. And don't you dare to be headstrong."

Anya shut the mouth she had just opened and nodded nonchalantly, knowing that he wouldn't hear her arguments. It was a bit hypocritical of him to call her headstrong and a fight-picker, when he did a lot of times more than her. "Swear to me." He requested.

"I swear."

He appeared to be satisfied by that. "Now, did you have any dreams this night?"

She took the notebook she had pushed into her pockets before leaving her room. "I wrote it as you weren't near. Give it again to me at dinner so that I can write any other dream I have. This can be my Dream Journal, like Freud's."

"Here you are again. I won't read an analysis of your sexuality, Anya."

"That's not it, Arawn!" She protested. "I just wrote what I dreamt. If you want to know my day-dreams, give it before dinner."

"That you share easily. Fine, if you can share that, share where you will be this afternoon." He demanded.

"Exploring the castle. Away from society, as you want to me to be. You will be at the common room small-talking and charming everyone, won't you?" She didn't wait for the response, she knew it would be 'yes'. As she walked away, she counted on her mind for the moment Tom would reach her and grab her arm, telling her to walk with him.

It took him seven seconds. She smirked, so predictable. That was the reason she knew she wouldn't have any problems walking around the houses without his knowledge. Anya knew his steps, she only had to walk in his shadow and charm everyone he forgot to do.

Easy.


	5. Fifth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: the awesome lil'hawkeye3 (FF.net)

The Slytherin first year duo of orphans had become quite famous after their first day of classes, in which they gained their house thirty points only by their performance on class. They had had only three classes that day, as the fourth period was reserved for extra-curricular clubs, whose enlistments would only be opened at October. Nevertheless, Anya had managed to receive five points from Dumbledore for quoting the whole transformation formula, and Tom another five for explaining the fifth unknown variable concept – to the anger of their lion classmates. Later, Professor Beery had given Tom ten points for being the first one to succeed in executing the fire-making spell (at his first try, obviously) and her five for being the second. After that, Professor Fairwent had managed to make a question about the locking spell in his Introduction to Charms Speech, and Tom had been awarded five points for answering it. In short, now they were the celebrities among the first-years, and Tom was enjoying his five-minute fame to gather some contacts.

The female of the duo, though, could be found at the far-eastern side of the castle, exploring. Anya had run away – she found that fame was too unstable to be used; besides, it wouldn't help her image. Tom would be fine, of course, he wanted to dominate minds; but she wanted to charm…and that required more patience and subtlety.

And she had taken a liking in exploring. Hogwarts had around a forty towers, and most of them were unused. The same could be said of its rooms, it had countless chambers, passages and everything else, yet she calculated that only fifty of those were used. Anya was near the Middle Courtyard.

Taking the parchment which she had been carrying around since Friday, she sketched the room she was in on the rest of the map she was drawing: a dark room with low-ceiling and a small staircase. She was almost sure she was inside the small but high tower with four gargoyles she had seen from the Transfiguration Classroom. Nice. Now she had to explore the upper grounds of it.

Climbing up the staircase, she walked into a chamber similar to the former, but whose walls were taken up by five cells. Oh Merlin, there was a prison inside the school. That was precious.

Walking in the direction of one of the cells, she took a look inside of it before performing the unlocking charm she had read about in their Charms Book. The cell was empty, obviously, yet there was something very disturbing about it. It wasn't huge, no -- it was very small. Then she saw it, a skeleton, hanging in a cage – a gibbet. Such a nice thing to find in your school. The corpse's flesh had rotted a long time ago, yet those empty orbs at her were quite creepy. How long have it been there?

A clatter behind her back made her jump in fright, unconsciously. Well, what did she expect? An abandoned tower would obviously have rats and things like that.

"Hello." A voice said unexpectedly, making her freak out for a moment. Then she turned on her feet to see a man in ragged clothes wearing chains. Then she saw the transparency of the body. A ghost.

You are in a prison and you see a ghost, again, what a nice surprise. "Oh, sorry. I must have scared you. Just tell me if you see my body. I have been looking for it for almost three centuries. It has a chain with claw at the neck, probably."

"If I see it, I will bring here." She assured him, although it was more possible that there was no such a thing around anymore, if the ghost had been searching it that long. But she was a bit gobsmacked.  "You died around here?" She said in her best conversational voice. Oh, she had seen a lot of ghosts in the last days, of course, but that was the first one with whom she had a conversation. And it was an extremely weird place to talk with the spirit of a deadman.

"No, very far away from here. My name is Captain Nicholas Digswell, but they called me 'Griffin Beak'. The best Sorcerer Pirate of the Seven Seas. And you are?"

"Anya Donbyre."

"Very well, Anya Donbyre. You remind me of a friend, they called her the 'Banshee's Grin'. I leave one of mine to you." And with that fancy farewell and dubious flattery, the ghost floated through the walls and vanished of the tower.

Then, she noticed the figure hiding in the shadows. "Well, that was quite a show." It said, revealing itself as a sandy-blonde boy. "It was a compliment, by the way. He said I looked like his friend 'The Barmy Niffer', and I know he likes me. Harfang Longbottom, at your service, Ms. Donbyre"

She recognized him from her Transfiguration class. He was as tall as Tom, but differently from him, he had a friendly-smile stamped in his full of baby-fat face. He seemed to have taken his blazer off at first opportunity, and know the only symbol of his house was the scarlet tie he wore loosely with the uniform jumper. "Nice place for a first meeting. Call me Nastya, everyone is doing."

"Well, some people call me Fang." He said with an idiotic smile.

"Seriously?"                                                                      

"No. But it would be cool if they did."

She laughed at his deject. "So, what are you doing here, Mr. Fang?"

He beamed with the nickname. "The same as you I suppose, Ms. Nastya."

"Being an evil snake that plots how to take away candies of children?" She suggested, gesturing at her green tie.

"I would prefer to call it exploring. You know, the favourite hobby of a nosy lion." He joked. "I meet with Griffin Beak as soon as I left my dorm and then he invited me for a walk, promising that he would guide me. Now, I don't have him and I'm lost."

"Oh, do not fear, Mr. Fang. You only have to follow the snake and she will guide you to light. After she sees more of this prison, of course. Want to stick around? You seem to be pretty open towards a snake, which is more than I can expect of a Gryffindor."

"My fiancée has been a Slytherin for three years, and she comes from a family full of them. If I don't accept them, how am I supposed to be good husband?" He asked with benign smile.

"Callidora Black, isn't she?" She recalled. "If you allow me to ask, how does it feel to be engaged to someone older than you?"

"She is two years and five months older, but since I can remember, we have been childhood friends. My mother used to have tea with Madam Lysandra, her mother; and Mrs. Crouch, the mother of Caspar. I was engaged to Callidora, Caspar to Charis, and together with Cedrella we would play together. I think we still think we are playmates, but in two years they will want us to date, and if Ally feels like…I'll always like her." He smiled, a blush at his face. "I ended up rambling, didn't I?"

"A little. But it was cute." She agreed. "You are the perfect lover-boy, which is a pretty good thing to an eleven year old." Anya added, as she unlocked the other cells and took a look at them. There is nothing more in those. "Well, that's pretty disappointing. There is another floor, and probably one after that... do you want to give a try?" She asked.

"Maybe later? A prison floor per day isn't good enough? Besides, dinner will be soon, I think." He stated from outside the cell. Suddenly, the girl walked out the cell with a golden piece in hands.

"Gold tooth." She told him.

"Be careful, it could be cursed. Once I found a ring at my house's basement…a mad fever for two days before mother found a healer that knew how to cure it."

"It will be cool if it's cursed, although I don't really like the fever thing." Anya stated, throwing it away. She would come here later; she could learn a curse-detecting spell before picking it up again. "Now, have you ever wondered why there is a prison inside the school?"

"It's an old castle. Most old castles have."

"Fine, but shouldn't someone have destroyed it already? I mean, maybe the dungeons have held jails, too, but they don't do anymore…besides, it was built to be a school. You saw the sculpture of the architect of Hogwarts, he built it to the Founders. Now who puts a tower with a prison in a school?"

"Someone who like to confine students? Considering the gibbet, I would say someone really evil and unscrupulous." Harfang suggested.

"I will search about it." She stated, making the lion laugh. "Why are you laughing?"

"You are brave enough to go in an adventure inside a prison with lots of corpses, probably. You seem to be very easy going, and are friendly. And you want to research everything you find mysterious. A lioness, a badger and a raven…are you sure you were correctly sorted?" He laughed. "Come along, the school won't accept a Gryffindor arriving at the Great Hall with a Slytherin, but I would be a jerk if I let you roam around alone." He called.

"You know that I have to show the way to the Hall, don't you?"

"I'm counting on you."

][][]

While Anya met with the Longbottom heir, Tom was doing what he was better: politics. Oh, he knew how good he was in it, but most importantly: he knew people didn't know how good he was – and that made him feel conflicted. It was too easy, in his opinion, if people underestimated; and he liked it easy – but he didn't like to be overlooked. Yet he was and he couldn't do anything about it except use it to his advantage. So, he did politics.

Politics. What people don't know about politics is that things rarely look like politics, but most of time, they are. And how his present situation didn't look like politics – one gullible person could confound it with studying, actually. But the people in his group knew better, after all in Slytherin, everything could be transformed in politics. The main target was usually friendships.

They sat around a stone table at the Dungeon Hall – first and second years listening to his explanation about the fire-making spell. Of course, only the firsties were paying attention; the second-years were sticking around because they wanted to analyse his persona. Sometimes they would make questions about their year's lesson, which Tom would respond easily – he hadn't stolen the books of a second year and a third year those months ago at Diagon Alley for nothing. He could discuss other magical subjects, as well, as he hadn't just stolen Hogwarts's books. Actually, he was sure he could give his view on every magical matter – even if just a minor opinion, which he planned to explain now that he had access to Hogwarts's Library.

"Hey, Riddle. Now that we can all become pyromaniac fools, how about doing something interesting?" Orion asked, pushing the parchment in which he had just written his essay about Charms Theory. Tom took a fast glance at it, noticing that it was just a paragraph of five lines of scrambles. Well, the Black Heir could be categorized as lazy, he supposed, and a quite hyperactive – in fact, he was the most childish of them.

The boy picked a crumpled paper ball which had just fallen from his pockets, quickly shoving it on them again – an action that caught Tom's attention. He dismissed it, though, as inquiring about something like that would be considered intrusive.

Tom knew his partners would soon get bothered as well, and bothered never worked well in politics. Well, he was done reading the books he had taken out of the library too. With a quick clock-charm he concluded that they still had one hour until the dinner. "I'm glad to see that you are not allowing your education to overwhelm your fatuity, Orion." He said to the laughter of others, while pushing his own textbooks into his leather bag. "Well, I assume that you have something you wish to do then?"

"I have a set of gob stones." Ragnar told them. "I bet that none of you can defeat Abraxas on it. He could enter in the National English Gob stones Team if he wished."

"Everyone could enter in the English Team, Lestrange." Caelum Nott, a second year, told him. "We suck. Now, I would want to see Malfoy entering in the Welsh Team. I bet ten galleons that I can defeat Malfoy."

"Deal." The Lestrange heir said, making his blond roommate to protest. "Oi, I didn't say I was going to play it. I used to, but I grow up…it's unfitting."

"Ask Ragnar money, Abraxas, if you win. Then, you won't have any reason for losing." Tom said nonchalant. That proved to be a good reason to Malfoy, as he quickly tied his long hair and rolled up his sleeves. "So what will it be? Classic, Jack Stone or Snake Pit? Do you have a board or you need me to draw it?"

"It's surprising how excited he can get with it." Tom whispered to Ragnar, snickering. "I guess I can see why you put your money on him."

"Don't you? He has been obsessed by it since we were little children. It was quite annoying." The auburn-haired boy confided, before raising his voice. "Play Snake Pit, I have the board and you are better on it. Be careful, my money is on you."

Ragnar took the set out of his bag and with some jealously, Tom noticed that it was made of solid gold. But he wouldn't steal it from him, of course – it wouldn't be wise to steal of someone with whom you would share the bedroom the whole year. "I have a Wizarding Chess Set." Flavius Rosier, a boy with honey blond hair told them.

Soon, Tom found himself in fight to death with Ragnar to win a game of Wizarding Chess. Well, he supposed that politics could be fun too.

][][]

Anya knew that saying that Tom was annoyed wasn't enough. She hated when he was moody, yet his current temper was one of the worst than she had ever seen since the dinner of the day before. She also knew the cause to it, and it came in the shape of one Ragnar Lestrange; to be more precise, his fucking chess abilities. Her male-counterpart had lost to the heir of the Lestranges several times, until he got stuck with that mood. She was pretty pissed with Ragnar, too. Her Arawn was already a pain in the arse when his temper was good, but when it got worse…everything else also got.

The fact that their history class was proving to be pretty boring wasn't helping. Binns was an elderly man whose dry and reedy voice seemed to be capable of boring someone to death. Most of the Gryffindors were already drooling over their desks, and the same could be said of the Slytherin – except that they astutely hid their mouths in order to conceal the drool. She had read about a book called A Vampire's Monologue that was written to bore their readers senseless so that the author could bite them; and for a moment, she couldn't help think that maybe Binns was a vampire as well.

But no, no vampire could be that boring.

And he only spoke about Goblin Wars! Anya hadn't read about the whole history of the Magical World, but she could easily that it wasn't only about Goblin Wars. Well, apparently they would also cover the Witch-Hunts at their third year, and the Giant Wars at their fourth and fifth years. And then something about a Soap Blizzard at 1378 which was followed by a burst of the wizarding economic bubble – the which was actually interesting if his voice showed a bit more of interest for the subject. And they could talk about things more interesting – like Merlin and Morgan, and Herpo the Foul, and the transition of the Wizard's Council to the Ministry of Magic; and about the signature of the International Statute of Wizarding Signature, perhaps, and about Salem and many others things. Even if he still wanted to talk about creatures, they could all go to the Werewolf Rebellions and to the Vampiric Question, _et cetera._

So why did he only talk about the Goblin Wars?

If Anya were anyone else except Tom, she would have raised her hand and asked. But Anya was Anya, and she could easily see the advantages of having a class nobody payed attention to, including the teacher. Most of her classmates wouldn't search about history and so they would grow up ignorant, and that was a pretty good thing. Then, if the teacher didn't pay attention if you were hearing it or not, you weren't obliged to hear it – a vacant period to self-study was something pretty good.

Anya took her copy of Mixtures pro Malo and started to browse through the magical properties of evil potions. Thanks Merlin she had disguised it as a copy of the infamous Toadstool Tales, or everyone who knew how to read Latin would find the title of her book suspicious.

"You are not reading that trash written by Beatrix Bloxam, are you?" Tom whispered in her ear. Anya looked to the seat beside her and noticed that Tom was reading another book as well, whose title she also doubted to be the real one, as he had read their Charms' year book at least thrice months ago.

"I could, if she had written a book about poisonous potions. I don't really think is her area, though. What about you?" He ignored her for some moments, until she took the book of his hands and untransfigured the cover of Notable Wizarding Families Through the Ages. "I assume you are still working in research about our ancestry."

He took the book out of her hands and nodded. "I have now several names of families we could belong to, but I still haven't found anything about another Tom Riddle, or a Marvolo. Riddle isn't a wizarding name; maybe my father was a half-blood, then."

"Marvolo seems to follow the wizarding tradition of having rather distinguished names, though. There wasn't any Marvolo born in the end of the last century? Maybe your grandfather wasn't a notable wizard."

"Maybe." Apparently, he had gotten tired of the subject, because he jumped to another topic. "Now, lend me your book, will you? There must be something I can test on Lestrange."

"You know that Lestrange is the heir of Noble and Most Ancient House, don't you? And you are fairly aware that you are going to get stuck in Azkaban for the rest of your life if someone caught you trying to kill or even maim a member of a Noble and Most Ancient House, aren't you?"

Begrudgingly, Tom saw the reason and dropped the matter, returning to his research. Feeling a bit generous, she mumbled: "Well, I've already finished this chapter; I guess you can take a look. Just keep potions testing restricted to animals, alright."

The boy with jet-black hair huffed in annoyance. "I won't kill everyone I see around, Anya. Actually, I still have to kill someone."

She snickered. "Give it five years." At that moment, Binns walked out of the classroom and Anya noticed that the class had already ended. Their next class was Transfiguration, with the Gryffindors as well. From what she had seen in their schedule, the school found appropriate to put the two houses that held the greatest feud in history together for most of their classes.

"Ms. Nastya, what did you think of our incredible class of history?" Harfang Longbottom asked her as soon as they entered at Classroom 1B, to the shock of everyone who was present. So, he wanted to go against the feud. She would bet that Callidora Black had some role in his reasoning and the simple fact that he was a nice boy being pleasant, too. After all, you could expect everything but manipulations of someone like him.

"The same as you, I guess, Mr. Fang. Incredible boring." She joked.

"Enough to read the Toadstools? Amazing, a whole other level of boredom that nobody had ever registered."

"Well, if I'm fated to die of boredom, I prefer to hear my own thoughts to a monologue about nothing. Boredom is a vital problem to a moralist, since at least half the sins of mankind are caused by the fear of it. I seek for it, because it hatches the most interesting ideas in my mind, Mr. Fang."

"Well, Ms. Nastya, you must be extremely intelligent as I can think of nothing while plagued by tedium. I'm not disappointed, I guess. Will you honour me and group with me today?" Both of them smiled at each other.

"As long as you feel it's an honour."

"Hey, that's Harfang, Ally's fiancée. Since when you know him?" Dorea asked from the row of seats behind her.

"Since yesterday." Anya answered.

"Who is he?" Tom inquired in a way that obviously said he was pissed off.

"He is the heir of a Noble and Most Ancient House, if you are wondering, Arawn. Harfang Longbottom, we meet yesterday. He is going to marry Callidora Black, Dorea's cousin."

Tom was accepting it against his will-- she knew it; after all, he couldn't deny the advantage of an alliance with someone like Longbottom. "You were quoting Russell at The Conquest of Happiness."

"Correct, Arawn. Nothing to me?" She inquired, knowing that he wouldn't have.

"Just trust me, Anya. I can build my own web."

"I know. But you know what a pre-Socratic philosopher once said? 'Men would live exceedingly quiet if these two words, mine and thine, were taken away.’ I say that men will walk greater paths if they unite both words and create 'ours'."

He groaned. "You are manipulating Anaxagoras's words, is that valid?" Anya knew that it would take a while for him to settle down so she just snorted in response and watched as Harfang moved from his seat.

Dumbledore had arranged the classroom in a quite disorganized manner, which seemed to fit his persona. The desks were disposed side by side, ten at the first row and ten at the second. It was practically impossible for the students be away from the teacher, but not to pass notes around.

But most importantly, it was impossible for the houses to be separated from each other.

When the Longbottom sat at the table beside hers, Anya noticed that she was in the very middle of the first row, in the very front of Dumbledore; and also the no man's land – the battleground of the houses. Perfect. Tom on her left, Harfang on her right; Harfang's friend on his right; Ragnar on Tom's left. Abraxas besides Ragnar and Orion. The first row was made of the most territorial species in the world – males – except her. She looked to her roommates behind of her; why she hadn't sat with them? At least most of the Slytherin boys wouldn't fight much with the Gryffindor girls.

"Nastya, this is Charlus Potter. Charlie, this is Anastasia Donbyre." Harfang introduced his black haired friend.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Donbyre. Harfang said you are a very nice girl."

"Call me Nastya, please. People have taken a liking in calling me this recently." She looked over her shoulder to Dorea, who shrugged. "Your friend is very fast to judge people…I am as well, and I must say Fang is a rather nice boy. I know one of us is right, at least." She winked at them in delight.

In that moment, Dumbledore arrived in their classroom in the same robes of outrageous colours he had taught them the day before. But differently from severe-but-calm expression which he had worn to explain that prejudice wouldn't be tolerated in his class; his expression was welcoming-and-warm, and it got even more soothing in the moment he saw Harfang and her together. She could bet he had been hearing the whole incident from the antechamber.

Inter-house cooperation. It seemed pretty obvious to her that achieving such thing was one of the deputy headmaster's greatest desires. Perhaps she would be able to help him with it. "We will resume what we have been talking about last class." He told them, as the chalk wrote in the board the subject. "The fifth unknown variable, also known as aether or quintessence."

"Mr. Riddle gave us a brief summary on this subject last class, but today we shall deepen our minds in the substance which the Greeks called ‘clear air’. A substance subtler than air; all space is permeated by it, which contains tiny whirlpools."

With a wave of his wand, the chalk became powder and the powder floated in front of the class, the dust forming a three-dimensional vortex. "These whirlpools allow it to have certain elasticity, transmitting vibrations from the corpuscular packets of light as they travel through." And suddenly several of those vortexes had been combined and seemed to reproduce his exact explanation.

"Now, we are basically speaking of alchemy here. Can anyone guess why are we addressing such a subject here? Yes, Ms. Donbyre."

"Transformation, Switching, Vanishment, Conjuration and Untransfiguration. All the branches of Transfiguration conduce to something disappearing or appearing – be it the handle of a cup, the feather of a bird, or a whole cup or bird. But energy isn't something that can be created or destroyed, and neither does matter. So, the question is: to where goes mass when magic transforms or vanishes something? And from where does it come when magic conjures or untransfigures something? The answer is the same for both: quintessence."

"Exact, Ms. Donbyre, five points for Slytherin. For centuries, many transfigurists have called quintessence the non-existent. They were, of course, wrong, as mass cannot cease to exist – only be transferred to another dimension in the shape of waves." He gave them a benign smile. "When they noticed this, however, they also noticed that their fellow alchemists had already developed the concept of this dimension and borrowed quintessence from Alchemy. Yes, Ms. Plunkett?"

"Well, Transfiguration and Alchemy are very similar, aren't they? Both are about alteration of an object's structure. Why are they divided as two different branches of magic?" A copper-haired girl blushed, glancing at Tom and Anya. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked it."

"Do not fear questioning, Ms. Plunkett, the greatest discoveries of mankind started out as a doubt. Indeed, Transfiguration and Alchemy are fields that walk closely together, but the latter focuses more in Chemistry and the Potions part of the art of transforming, while the former is more related to Charms and the Biology part of the same art." He paused for a moment. "One could possibly say that Alchemy aims for overcoming the limitations of Transfiguration too."

"The most known limitations for Transfiguration are the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law. Can you say one of them? Mr. Potter?"

"Uhm…food? Food cannot be outright conjured from quintessence, can it? Although it can be multiplied, summoned or enlarged."

"In fact, Mr. Potter, five points for Gryffindor. Mr. Lestrange?"

"Money. One cannot create money from quintessence with Transfiguration, although one could argue that alchemists can create gold."

"Indeed, it has been one of the greatest goals of alchemists. Five points for Slytherin. Mr. Pratt?"

"My dad said something about information. You cannot create information with magic in any way. Because of that, Ravenclaw's Diadem doesn't exist."

"You are correct, Mr. Pratt, despite the fact that there is no prove of its existence or no-existence and the fact that the diadem was supposedly built to enhance wisdom, not information. Five points to Gryffindor. Mr. Riddle, if you please?"

"The other two exceptions are love and life. One cannot make someone love another, so all those love-potions are in fact, useless. And one cannot bring someone dead to life nor give sentience to inanimate objects, despite the fact some seem to believe the contrary."

"Correct, Mr. Riddle. Five points to Slytherin. I quite remember the time when I used to care for a bumblebee which used to be a grape. Of course, one day it disappeared." Dumbledore's eyes seemed to be unfocused for a moment. "But look where have we come, we should go back to quintessence, shouldn't we?"

][][]

Their first potions class would be at the Friday morning, and Tom was quite determined to leave a great first-impression on their Head of House. Saying that he was determined meant that he was well-groomed, held himself in the most perfect posture that showed to the world that there was someone who would shine in the middle of the masses, and had the most pleasant expression that showed some kind of total-regard for the one who it was directed. It also meant that Anya's head was hurting because of the amount of times Tom had brushed her hair and that her uniform was far from having any crinkle.

Indeed, they had taken 'acting on your best-behaviour' to another level.

So one could possible assume that Anya was a bit bored by the introduction-to-potions speech Slughorn was giving – not that one could tell from her face, that held an impeccably interested expression on it. In her mind, she was silently analysing with whom she should spend her afternoon that day. Oh, she was fairly aware that Tom was answering as many questions one could answer without being called a know-it-all, even herself had answered one about imbuing magic on a potion – although it had sounded more like a whole essay than an answer, so she was pretty sure that Slughorn would invite her to his Slug Club as soon as they brewed his Cure for Boils in the next week. Although she was also sure that Tom would be the first one to receive an invitation of all Hogwarts, if one were to consider his delayed appearance to DADA.

When she asked about it to him, Tom answered that he would have one in three days and she believed in it. Trust Tom Riddle to know how long a simply talk-after-class with a teacher would take to make the same teacher to adore him.

Defence Against Dark Arts was taught by Madam Galatea Merrythought – a silver-haired lady who had seemed to occupy the same post for over forty years. Anya was pretty sure she wasn't a little girl when she had started to taught, though, if one were to consider the fact she looked over a hundred. She was someone rather easy-going, though, considering she had been born in a very conservative Victorian Era. Tiny and wrinkled, the woman was constantly smiling, had the habit of offering cookies to every student who arrived in the class and was very fast with a wand and her feet to an old lady.

At the ending of her first week as a student, Anya had decided that she liked most of her teachers. Professor Beery was a very dramatic man that had a taste for acting as if his plants at the greenhouse were sentient – which was quite annoying, but not bad. Professor Fairwent was a very tall albino that was impossible to not look to as soon as you entered in the Charms Classroom, but also someone who was quite the scholar and had a very good grasp of his subject. Madam Black, Dorea's niece, was a young feminine woman who looked quite like her aunt and, like Anya assumed all Blacks were, had a great understanding of Astronomy. She still had to head her Flying Classes, and meet Madam Hooch, but everyone else seemed great aside Binns.

To her classes, she would usually pair up with Tom, Dorea and Brianna, Harfang and Charlus, or Laws, aka Eoessa – the Ravenclaw was still punching her every time she called her for her first name. But most of time, Tom would drag her and oblige her to be his pair – even when she protested saying that it wouldn't help them socially.

Everything was going pretty well, she supposed. But that was a phrase that tempted fate, and fate adored to relinquish to temptation.

Yup, of course, October had to arrive.


	6. Sixth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: lil'hawkeye3 (FF.net)

October.

Anastasia had never liked October very much – although the fallen leaves covering the ground and the fiery-red maple trees were a beautiful sight, something bad always seemed to happen on the month. That year, the tenth month had started very well.

The first day was a Saturday, and because of that several extra-curricular groups had gathered around the Quad. The three females of the Slytherin first-year dormitory walked side by side, escorted by the heirs of Malfoy, Black and Lestrange, and the Riddle genius as well. Their ensemble was similar to any Slytherin covey – well-groomed, snobbish and good-behaved.

Anya watched fascinated as the upperclassmen made a show of themselves and exposed their clubs in booths, her arms linked with Dorea's and Brianna's, her Arawn guarding her back. Suddenly, a girl with olive skin and brunette hair approached them, guiding a ginger freckled girl through the crowd. "Oi, Nastya! This is Maeve Kearney, my housemate."

"Laws, wasn't she the one who had stolen your charms books a week ago?" Anya raised one eyebrow. Eoessa had been rambling how that Irish-bitch had been pestering her since the day they had arrived because she was supposedly an idiot. Anya could have told the redhead that although Laws wasn't exactly a Ravenclaw bookworm, she was very witty, creative and unique – and that being a raven wasn't just about being intelligent or wise, after all nobody could expect an eleven years old to be wise.

"Oh, that was a misunderstanding of both of us." Laws explained. "We are good now, aren't we?"

"I'm sorry for that, I don't have a lot of experience in socializing, I didn't know I was being rude." The girl blushed cutely, and Anya noticed that she had her arms around a large tome – yes, she fitted the exact image of a Ravenclaw, she supposed.

"Don't worry, what belongs to past has already passed." Anya assured her. "I'm Nastya, these are Dorea Black, Brianna Gagwilde, Tom Riddle, Ragnar Lestrange, Abraxas Malfoy and Orion Black. I suppose you know Essy Laws Cadogan, don't you?"

"My name isn't that if you wanna know, Maeve." They all laughed good-naturally at Laws's expression. Anya was the first one to notice when the other ravenclaw flushed again for laughing out loud, and the black-haired witch offered her an assuring smile, leading the other to smile as well. "So, sweet, rosy Ms. Kearney, let me continue the presentations. This is Nastya, our lady; Dora is our ambitious mother; Brianna is the girly one. I'm the charming gentleman, Abraxas; Ragnar here is your moron, an expression you will notice that comes from the Greek for foolish, yet you can also address him as the dimwit, a slang I'm sure means of diminutive wit…"

"I protest! I'm the witty gentleman; you are knight in shining armour that seems to have developed a bookworm side in the last minutes." The Lestrange scion interrupted his friend's rambling. "Riddle is the enchanted genius, Orion is the kid. Cadogan is the tomboy, are you the scholar girl our group was lacking?"

"I thought you were that one." Dorea whispered to Anya, giggling.

Anya smirked, feeling Tom's eyes watching her carefully. "Careful, Arawn, you might burn holes in my skull." She mumbled to him.

"Everything has beauty, just not everyone sees it. I'm just watching one that is very obvious…And that, dear Abraxas, is how you compliment a woman." He said out loud, and she snorted, mouthing "Confucius" to him as their group snickered.

"Oi, why don't you join the Astronomy Club? We have meetings every Saturday night at the Astronomy Tower!" A ravenclaw blonde girl offered them. "I'm Jillian Stornried, the president of the club. You are a Black, aren't you? Madam Black is our instructor."

Dorea glanced at the booth of the club, eyeing tastefully at the three-dimensional graphic of the constellation of Virgo and at the enchanted model of the Solar System. "Well, that's interesting, I suppose. Maybe later? I want to take a look at the others first."

"Are all Blacks interested by the Outer Space or just the majority?"

"It's kind of a fascination ingrained in us since our birth." Orion admitted. "Beaster, our eldest house-elf, has been teaching me about it since before I could speak."

"Do you want to join the Rat Race Club? We have meeting every Friday evening!" A Hufflepuff third year boy asked them in an over-excited tone that made Anya suspect there were few applications that year. "My name is Jeremy Graingrew, the president."

"Hum...No, thanks." Laws refused, as uncomfortable as the rest of the girls – trying hard to muffle her giggles at the way the boy seemed to spit on everyone as he talked. They all walked away from there quickly before exploding in laughter.

"Seriously...who spends his Friday's nights watching rodents race?" Tom questioned.

"What a loser." Brianna agreed. Tom glanced at Anya, a bit surprised by the way her fellow roommate seemed eager to agree with him. She rolled her eyes discreetly and offered a lacy handkerchief to a breathless and saliva-wet Maeve.

"Hello, would you like to join the Charms Club? I'm Lawrence Diggory, and I will be your instructor if you join us." A fifth-year boy with chiselled features and grey eyes told them. "Laws, Effie was looking for you!"

Anya supposed it was a bit weird to be in a conversation with two people called Law; one could think they would be lawyers in the future.

"Yes, pretty-boy Lawrie. Tell your girlfriend that I refuse to join her club, will you? My sister doesn't need to send her handsome lover-boy to convince me, because I won't. And neither of them will." She told him, challenging the Gryffindor to go against her.

"You don't like the heir of the Diggory's?" Dorea asked as the Ravenclaw dragged them away.

The short-haired girl nodded in affirmation. "No, he is just too much of the perfect boy."

"You liked him, didn't you?" Tom inquired, making the witch gag and redden.

"No way!"

"In fact, she is just jealous of him, because he stole her sister. Frankly, Arawn, you are losing your nerve." Anya chimed in, enhancing Laws's blush further. "You can't deny me, sweetie."

They approached a booth in which ten toads had been jinxed to sing, and a girl with fluffy and long pigtails approached them. "Hi, my name is Cordelia Pettihart, I became a member of the Frog Choir last year, and I had a lot of fun in my first year; do you wish to join us? This will be the sixth year since our creation!"

Maeve smiled to the girl, looking unsure she accepted the brochure the girl had offered them. "You like to sing, that's great!" The Cordelia girl, which Anya assumed to be a Hufflepuff – although she couldn't be sure as none of them wore uniforms – smiled.

As they walked through the booth, many club members offered a place for them in their respective clubs. The leader of the Wizard Card Collectors' Club caught Orion's attention, to Dorea's dismay – as she had decided to join the Astronomy Club after all. They casually ignored the president of the Knitting Club, as they could really figure out how someone made a club of that in the middle of a school; and the Gobstones Club, who was led by fanatic by the game.

Abraxas was a bit tempted to enter in the Maenad Club, a club of oenology. When Tom asked him why he would be interested so much in wines, Abraxas explained to them that the Malfoys had several vineyards in France, and produced a wine called Superior Red. They found Flavius Rosier in front of the Magical Creatures Club's booth, together with Archibald Mulciber

"Riddle! Flavius was telling me he wishes to become a magizoologist, do you know what do you want to be in the future?" Mulciber spoke excitedly, in the flatterer way he always used around their group.

"I prefer to not close doors for me before I analyse all my options. But I have to congratulate you, Rosier, your resolution is noteworthy." Rosier accepted the compliment with a graceful nod, a quiet guy, that one.

"So, Flavius. Have you already decided your area of specialization or you are still considering? I know of some – dragonology, cryptology, magiornithology, unicornology, trollology, beastology, hippology or magical naturalist?" Anya asked, recalling the branches of magizoology from a book.

"I'm quite attracted to the work of Quong Po, but I also like Stoddard Withers." He reddened when he saw the oblivious expressions of his fellow year-mates. "Sorry, Quong Po is a dragonologist, and Stoddard Withers is a hippologist."

"One would think that you enjoy flying, Rosier, but nobody flies in a dragon, I guess." Ragnar laughed. "Speaking of flying, who is excited to Thursday? I know Orion is practically jumping in his feet to get in the air."

"Yes, thank you for reminding me of this, Lestrange." Brianna spoke coldly.

"Don't you enjoy flying?" Mulciber asked.

"Of course she doesn't, Mulciber. It's unladylike." Abraxas chimed "You will only see women flying in teams of lowly Gryffindorks or things like that."

"Oi! My sister is a Gryffindor!" Laws stated in outrage. "See what I was talking about? Unladylike." The blond wizard claimed with reprobation.

"You don't even know my sister, Malfoy!" The incredulity in Laws's voice was very obvious to everyone who actually payed attention, but apparently, the heir of Malfoy's wasn't.

"Well, she has a boy as a sister that I assure you."

"Better a tomboy than a stuck-up arse… Come with me Maeve. Nastya, meet with me only when you don't find yourself in the presence of such a bigoted wimp, ok?" And then both Ravenclaws of their group vanished in the crowd.

Ragnar whistled. "I think Abraxas will need more classes on how to deal with woman, Riddle."

"I don't understand, I wasn't lying or something like that. Why that loud vulgar girl reacted like that?"

"Not everyone is ready to accept truth, Abraxas." Tom explained. "It's outrageous that the Gryffindors accept females in their teams, which doesn't mean that Cadogan won't feel the need to defend her family's honour."

"But her sister is in the Charms Club!"

"Actually, we are accepting now females too." Alexander Blishwick, the sixth-year captain of the team informed them. "So if one of you ladies wants to try, feel free to do so – as long as you are better than all boys."

"You know that the only girls that would consider such proposition, are filthy mudbloods or blood-traitors, don't you?" Antonin Dolohov had just reached their group accompanied by Andros Avery and Caelum Nott. "And the house of Slytherin doesn't produce such lowlife."

"Well, Dippet obliged us to accept. Which actually means that Dumbledore obliged us to accept girls – but you already knew that."

"No surprise there," snickered Tom.

[][][]

Rolanda Hooch was a woman in her late-thirties with a pointy nose, yellow eyes and pixie brunet hair – she seemed the stricter and younger version of Madam Merrythought, both of them sharing the same liveliness. They were gathered in the Training Grounds for the first class all houses shared together.

Anya laughed as she felt her feet leaving the ground, remembering the exhilaration of flying – of course, she had never tried to fly with a broom, but the fact was that she had missed the ability of flying that September as Tom and her had decided it was too dangerous to fly without brooms in the school when nobody else seemed to be able to do it. The broom was a bit of hindrance to the sensation she was crestfallen to find, yet it wasn't that bad – the feeling of freedom was almost the same, and it was easier to control. Not that she had difficulties in controlling her flight without a wand now, but she had had them some day.

She checked out Tom for a moment and, as expected, he had no difficulties. Although he admitted that she was better than him in flying, nobody could call him unskilled. Abraxas, Orion and Ragnar weren't bad either, but that she supposed it was because they had their own broomsticks at home, and had grown up flying.

Brianna was abysmal in it, and Dorea wasn't any better if one were to judge her difficulty in balancing her broom. Laws was alright, and she noticed that she and her Ravenclaw friend seemed to be the exception among girls.

Harfang and Charlus Potter were good too – both of them were maneuvering their brooms to create spirals in the air skilfully, ignoring Madam Hooch's orders to slower. Anya laughed at their antics and dove through the air, pulling out of it seconds before crashing on the ground with a shout of mirth – a move that drawled the attention of many.

Someone screamed in terror above her, and Anya glanced up to see that Brianna had completely lost the control of her broom and was struggling to keep herself seated on the broom seventy feet up in the air. With a lurch, the broomstick bucked her off and then the girl found herself accelerating in free fall.

"Ms. Gagwilde!"

Anya didn't think twice before accelerating her broom in her roommate's direction, and with a strike, her mouth meet a wisp of pink blonde hair. The emerald-eyed witch smiled in relief to the blue-eyed one as the second wrapped her arms around the other's frame. "Caught you."

One moment later, Anya heard Madam Hooch's arresto momentum, which was no longer necessary.

If one were to consider the nails that dug in her flesh and the tears that washed her blouse as Anya lowered her broomstick in the air, one could say that Brianna was frightened by her fall – but her saviour was pretty sure that fright wasn't enough to define her emotions at the moment. "It's alright, you are safe." She assured her, landing in the courtyard.

As soon as her feet reached the ground, Brianna broke her embrace and threw herself onto the floor, eager to be away of a broom. Anya dropped it and bent down to hug her housemate, who returned it fiercely. "I was so scared; I thought I was going to die!"

Their classmates had all landed already, and circled the scene they were making. Madam Hooch pushed through the crowd of students and gathered the Slytherin girl in her arms. "Thank you, Anastasia; fifteen points for Slytherin for a great act of bravery. She's in shock, so I will have to take her to the Hospital Wing, class dismissed. Don't touch the brooms if you don't want to get detention." The flying instructor announced before guiding her student inside the castle.

"That was incredible!" Orion shouted in excitement. "I mean, I knew you were an excellent flyer when you performed the Wronski Feint, but that's was awesome! You must have set the speed record one can achieve in a cheap training broom like these – imagine you on a great broom."

"Hush, nephew…don't speak like that when Brianna is the hospital." Dorea chastised her sibling.

"That was reckless!" Tom shouted, pushing their classmates away and grabbing her arm. "Absolutely unacceptable! Idiotic and moronic! Unwise, imprudent, mindless, and rash!" He dragged her away from the courtyard, without putting a stop in his ramble.

"Donbyre!" A voice called her and Anya turned to see Blishwick approaching them. "I saw what you did up there, and you must join the Slytherin Quidditch Team – you are the perfect seeker, I would kick out last year seeker just for you to join us, but that won't be necessary because Fawcett just graduated. You have to join us!"

"I will think…"

"She won't join." Tom interrupted. "Now go away."

"Since when do you speak for her? I must insist for her to join." The upperclassman spoke at the same time Anya shrieked: "Excuse me?!"

"Very well, she can join. But you won't be the captain of the team." If the threat wasn't obvious in Tom's voice, then it would be evident in his gaze. It was more deadly than a basilisk's eyes probably – and definitely, more intimidating. "Now you will disappear from here, Blishwick."

But in truth, they never stuck around to see if the upperclassman had fled or not, because Tom didn't hesitate in grasping her arm and pulling her through the corridors until they found themselves totally alone.

 _'What were you thinking? You won't join the Quidditch Team!'_ He hissed in parseltongue.

_'Why not? He was begging for me to join! I love flying, and just because you decided that we cannot fly in the school without a broom, it doesn't mean that I have to be deprived of it! What's the problem?'_

_'The problem?!'_ Tom laughed in annoying manner. _'The problem is that you were the only girl skilfully flying aside of a tomboy! It's unladylike!'_

_'Who cares? Dora rolls her eyes; Brianna giggles loudly, Laws curses! And I cannot fly because it's unladylike?! People don't like perfection, Arawn!'_

_'You remember what Dolohov said, he said only filthy mudbloods girls would join a quidditch team, or blood-traitors, who aren't any better! Now you want be part of them?'_

_'We are mudbloods! Face the truth, Tom! Our parents abandoned us because we had freakish powers! Again, what's the problem?'_

_'Don't you call me Tom! Not you! The problem is that you refuse to act good-mannered and chooses to act with vulgarity!'_

_'No, Tom. The problem is that you are a possessive, crazy jerk who refuses to acknowledge that I can be better than you and wants to control everything! Wake up, things won't be always like we want her to be!_ '

_'I know that! You think I don't know that? I do everything in my power to achieve things I want to happen yet I'm hindered by a vulgar attention-whore slut who cannot afford to shallow her pride once and be quiet!'_

She spat at him in anger. _'You know what? I don't give a fucking shit. If I'm such an obstacle don't waste your time with me. Don't you dare to approach me, Riddle.'_

"Don't you dare turn your back to me, Anya!" He shouted as she did exactly the thing he had forbidden her to do.

In an evident example of what happened when you were raised in house full of neglected children of all ages, she raised a rather vulgar finger in both her hands and without facing him, Anya walked away. "Screw you."

Apparently, it was October.


	7. Seventh Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta:lil'hawkeye3 (FF.net) - the miracle worker

An evidence to the fact that Anya was different to Tom was that he didn't apologize immediately after their fight. If Anya were anybody else, he would have convincingly begged for pardon without really meaning it and everything would have settled down.

But Anya was Anya, and because of that, the animosity was tangible in the Slytherin dungeons. It had all started at the next day after their confrontation. Their morning period was Potions with the Gryffindors, and when Anya sat herself soundly into the seat beside Harfang, the whole classroom had looked at her.

In contrast to the Transfiguration classroom, the classroom in the dungeons had very separated benches, in which the houses would never mix. Even if the Lions had accepted that their housemate had a tentative friendship with a snake, they were immediately suspicious of her sitting with one of them in the most reactive class of all. Anya raised her hands in the air, in the worldwide known gesture to say 'look, I'm not carrying a dangerous big weapon' – or in the case, a wand. Most glares subdued at that, but of course, Tom's was not one of those.

"What's up with you and Riddle?" Harfang asked, watching as Brianna and Dorea followed her to the same bench of Charlus and him. The former was still glued at Anya for saving her and the latter declared there was no fun in sticking around a bunch of guys.

"Nothing." But of course, her lie didn't travel far, as Tom and her were obviously competing to see who could earn more points for their house. Their answers and accomplishments fought against each other, and at the beginning of their second potions period, Slughorn didn't have to ask questions anymore, as they were in a heated debate over the uses of dragon blood – a rapid-fire of questions.

Unfortunately for their classmates, the argument continued to their Defence Against Dark Arts session that afternoon, and the poor Ravens didn't have a chance to answer anything in their Herbology class. At the end of the day, she finally admitted to Longbottom that there were troubles in Tom-yland, although she never revealed what exactly.

Friday was the beginning of what the school would nickname as the "Feud of Serpents" – not very original, in her opinion – in a few days. A few muggleborns had called it the "Salieri and Mozart rivalry," which in her opinion was much more interesting, but none of them could actually point out who was who.

It had been two weeks since the episode and although Anya was still furious, she took great pleasure in making Tom jealous. She actually had to compliment his roommates; she knew very well how his group must be suffering the effects of his moodiness.

They were at the Central Tower Courtyard, one of the most wooded gardens of the school, which in the fall, shined scarlet with its trees. Anya, Fang, Charlus, Maeve, Laws, Dora, Brianna and the two Hufflepuffs she had charmed during their Charms and Astronomy classes – Deodor Fronsac and Sean Catchlove – sat on a tablecloth the Badgers had found somewhere, probably in the same place they had grabbed all those foods – fruity pudding, mushroom tartlets, plum and almond tray bakes, hazelnut and chocolate cakes and pear pastries; teas, gillywater and pumpkin juice.

"We cannot tell you. It's supposed to be a house secret!" Sean explained when she asked one more time where they had found all those things. Anya found the two badgers cute, although they weren't exactly pretty boys – too babyish.

Her first meeting with them had been in Charms the following Monday after her discussion with Tom. She had sat at their table and grinned at their frozen expressions.

"Something wrong? Is there chocolate on my face?" She had asked, and their response was: "You're a Slytherin."

"Yep." She had agreed, showing the badge at her uniform.

"Why are you sitting with us?"

"Because the boys in my House are rude, idiotic fools. You aren't like them, are you? Because I hear Hufflepuff House breeds the most perfect kind of gentlemen." It had been quite entertaining to watch their faces change from humble to proud, and back to humble again.

"You know that I like to explore the school. And that now that I know this is a house secret, it's only a question of time before I find the kitchens around your common room." She pointed out, taking a bit of the tray bake. "This is good, by the way."

"I baked it." Deodor informed. "You know where the Hufflepuff Dorm is?"

"No. But I assume that it's near Professor Beery's suite and office; after all, he is your Head of House – it must be a rule, mustn't it?"

"You are a great baker, Fronsac." Harfang complimented, his face filthy with chocolate. "Do the chefs allow students to cook?"

"Only if you know how to cook. If you don't…you don't want to see an angry house-elf, I assure you." Sean cringed, as if he was recalling some gruesome event.

"So, the chefs are house-elves. No wonder the food here is so good." Dorea commented. "I should have guessed it. Wipe your face, Longbottom, Ally may see you."

The Longbottom heir reddened and cleaned his cheeks with his handkerchief, making Laws laugh as she raised her head from her sketchbook. "You were right, Nastya, he is a lover-boy."

"We are only eleven. How can girls make everything about romance at eleven?" Charlus inquired.

"That's pretty easy – add love." Dorea smirked. "Or possessiveness in Nastya's case. I cannot believe you two are still not talking."

"He called me a prostitute, am I supposed to take that well?" She asked, making both Sean and Charlus choke on their drinks, and Deodor and Harfang sputter. Dorea just smirked, already aware of the facts, while Maeve and Brianna seemed to alternate the gobsmacked look between themselves and Laws looked pretty irate.

"I could kill him." The Ravenclaw witch offered.

"Yes, that's what you do when people offend you, Laws." Anya deadpanned.

"Why would he call you that? You are so gentle, caring and supporting." Maeve asked, her expression of disbelief over her book made Anya want to swoon.

"Thanks, Maeve, but you are the cute girl out of us. There is no reason, though, except him being him."

"What else did he say to you?" Brianna questioned with interest.

"Oh, it was just a fight. I'm getting my revenge slowly, you don't need to worry. Besides, we are boring our male company with this talk." She waved the girl's curiosity off, her nerves feeling Tom's eyes burning holes in her back from the opposite side of the courtyard. "Deodor, would you pour me some tea?"

"Sure, Nastya. Earl Grey, Oolong or Hibiscus?"

"Hibiscus. With a spoon of honey, if you please." She smiled as the boy offered her a cup of tea and took a sip of it. "Of the sweetest kind, indeed." She said, resting the saucer on the picnic blanket and resting her head on Harfang's lap. "Callidora won't get jealous, Fang, will she?" She asked with a smirk.

"I doubt it's something I find myself unable to explain, milady." He assured her with his own smirk.

"I can attest your relationship is purely platonic, if you feel the need, dear future cousin-in-law." Dorea suggested. "If you find me a husband, I don't want to end up as an old spinster." They only laughed, used now to Dorea's antics. Anya purred as she felt Harfang caressing her forehead – and with the corner of her she was amused by the fact that Tom was sulking and digging his nails on Orion's wrist.

"I finished it!" Laws announced, raising her pastel pencil of her sketchbook in satisfaction. Brianna took it out of her hands with yank. "Let me see this. Oi, this is only a portrait of Nastya, where are the rest of us?"

"Hello? I'm not a Hufflepuff – I'm lazy!"

"You know not all Hufflepuffs are hard-workers, don't you?" Sean asked. "But you would fit with us…this must have been hard to draw, it's beautiful." He complimented.

"You mean gorgeous, don't you?" Harfang opined, looking over Catchlove's shoulder.

"Prettier than the real thing, actually." Charlus stated solemnly.

"I heard that!" Anya called out.

"Take a look, then." The Potter scion told her, giving the sketch to her.

Beautiful – it was the only way of describing it. If she didn't know better, Anya would have thought that someone had taken a photo of her – with a better light than possible, and made her eyes glimmer like surreal emeralds. Her lips were poutier than the reality and the full-coloured picture seemed to gather all good features of her in a portrait. "Alright, this is awesome."

"Isn't it? I want to enrol in the International Academy of Magical Arts to learn how to paint moving portraits and things like that. But of course, that's after Hogwarts – for now I will stick to the Arts Class."

"Can you give me this one?" Anya asked. "It's beautiful. I can pay you."

"Of course, it's yours, no need of a payment. But I wanted to ask you if you could be my model, Nastya – you are very beautiful to draw. I can pay you."

"No, no; you can keep painting me this beautiful as long as you want, no payment required. It will be honour." Anya accepted, deciding that there was no way that the daughter of rich foreigners- who she pretended to be- would accept money for modelling.

"You can paint Riddle too, when he starts to talk to Nastya again – he is handsome." Brianna suggested, making the boys around her groan.

"No, no need. I like to draw women more than men." Laws refused.

"Oh, you shouldn't feel jealous of Tommy-boy, guys, itty bitty baby Tommy is just too jealous. Come here if you want him to really feel envious." She joked to the boys protests, kissing Harfang's and Deodor's cheeks loudly.

Apparently, Tom was quite predictable because as expected, he was seething in rage and probably causing lasting harm to a poor Mulciber – with whom Orion had smartly changed places, possibly on Lestrange's advice. At least someone else would know how difficult was to deal with a morose Tom.

"Riddle is going to kill us." The Gryffindor wizard groaned. "At least we will die with a kiss of a beautiful lady."

"Speaking of the devil, he is walking in our direction."

Anya felt the air around her pulling her up, and she groaned noticing that yes, Tom was using his wandless magic and no one else was noticing. Hesitantly, she got up in her feet and waving reassuringly to her group.

[][][][

At the other side of the courtyard, the Slytherin boys were experimenting a Riddle in his most-jealous-mode, an experience that was, in short, quite painful. Those words could also be used to summarize the previous two weeks, in which Riddle had more mood-changes than a PMS-ing girl. He would be the usually charming, witty and intelligent young man that they had grown used to; and suddenly he was sullen, headstrong and harsh.

Apparently, Nastya Donbyre was the kind of girl that dragged a man to madness. Or at least, a man fighting with her. Ragnar had to admit that the girl was good in her game of acting totally oblivious to Riddle – which seemed to irritate him quite a bit.

Too good. She wasn't even dealing with the consequences of the monster she was creating.

They had left the Library in order to not bother with Madam Litruth with their entrance ritual, which was smoking. After that, they had walked to the Central Tower Courtyard, in which most people that weren't actually knitting, gossiping or playing gobstones could be found – it was the prettiest garden in the school at autumn, after all.

"So, who has some Valerian around?" Rowle, a second-year, asked, taking out a pipe of his pockets. "Who of you has already smoked? Mulciber? Nott? No? I'm the only one grown-up here?" He questioned, wrapping the herb around his fingers before pushing it on the thing. "Try it, Lestrange."

"Well, I would be impressed with you, Demetrius. But Lady Hermia told me at Yule about your first time trying it last year. You are one year older, don't be an idiot." Ragnar said, taking the pipe of his hands and giving it a try. "I am kind of hoping that Valerian is the cheapest thing you can try because there must be something better than this, as it's similar to a load of dragon dung. Abraxas?"

"This smell will stick to our clothing, you know? And it reeks." The Malfoy heir spoke up, whiffing some smoke of it. "My father certainly smokes something better. Try it Dolohov."

It seemed that they had chosen to humiliate Rowle for trying to humiliate them. Tom smirked, oh, payback was a bitch.

Antonin tried it twice, even if he almost choked on the smoke for the first time. Headstrong, they called it. And as a challenge, he gave it to Tom. It was impossible to say that Tom wasn't expecting for that kind of ceremony – it was a tradition in muggles schools and maybe the human being was such a mess that even if men were magical, they were attracted to addicts.

Out of them, Tom knew he was the most used to smoking. He had tried his first cigarette around six, like most orphan boys did, and since that he always kept a pack in his pockets. He didn't smoke per se – actually he usually didn't smoke more than one or two cigarettes in a month – but there was something extremely satisfying in putting it out in the hands of someone; and marking one's palm with a burnt. So, he easily accepted the pipe and casually gave a whiff before offering it to Mulciber…

…who promptly choked on it. Frankly, there were some people in the world who were born as losers.

Nott seemed to agree with such observation, because with a snicker, he took the pipe out of Mucliber's hands and gave it a try. "Someday we will remember this as the worst thing we have smoked, won't we? Seriously, Rowle, you have been smoking this shit the whole year?"

Rosier took the pipe of the second year's hand and grimaced when trying, handing the thing to Avery in the quiet manner he always held when the subject wasn't magical creatures. Andros Avery was a very gullible boy who followed the lead of others, so no one could compliment him for his insult but at least it wasn't laughable as Mulciber.

When all of them had tried the Valerian, Tom took the pipe out of the others' hands and smashed it on the ground; in that moment his eyes met with his Anya's laughing of something one of those Hufflepuff boys had said.

Disgusting – those boys eating out of her hand like domesticated birds.

"You have anything more?" He asked, his teeth gritted.

"I had pixie dust." Dolohov offered. "But we obviously don't have a pipe anymore."

"Are you a wizard or a muggle?" Tom inquired, conjuring a pipe with his wand and handing it to Dolohov.

"We are wizards – of the type that actually needs classes to know how to do magic and that in his second month of studying magic cannot conjure a pipe effortlessly. Is that actually rare?" Ragnar questioned.

"Well, whose fault is this?" He said, taking his conjured pipe out of Dolohov's hands and puffing it several times, watching annoyed as a certain emerald-eyed witch laid her head on Longbottom's lap. Orion moaned in pain in the moment his nails dug in the Black's skin leaving a trail of blood.

"The system that only allows us to be magically-educated after our eleventh birthday, perhaps?" Abraxas opined. "Orion, if you don't want to be permanently maimed you should change places with Mulciber." Ragnar advised.

Tom Riddle didn't really care which arm he was holding as long as he could imagine that it wasn't an arm the thing he had in hands, but the neck of those who accompanied his female counterpart.

[][][][

Tom walked in front of her, trailing their path through the Central Tower and the Terrace of First Building. The terrace was a balcony that lead to a path under the Stone Bridge that nobody seemed to use. _'What the hell are you thinking flirting around like a scarlet woman?'_

 _'I'm eleven, Tom, there's no way I can be called a courtesan – if we won't mention child prostitution. I'm not even a woman, I suppose if you were to call me scarlet girl, or child…'_ She pointed out, irritated with the way his nails in her skin would leave marks.

 _'It doesn't matter – they were all over you!'_ He snapped ferociously.

_'Soitenly, Tom. They still have to hit puberty – they are just pushovers. Don't fret over it, it's just your urge to monopolize me speaking, and its voice is obnoxious.'_

If she was in any other situation, Anya would have found the pulsating vein on his temple even funnier than the blood rushing to his head in anger, but as he reached her neck with those furious hands and pushed her against the balustrade she couldn't control the transient feeling of fear that took over her mind.

Of course, when that moment was over, she watched calmly as Tom kept a tight grasp on her neck; without actually asphyxiating her, only preventing her from leaving. "You are mine! I named you! I saved you!" He shouted, beyond reason. "If you are going to avoid me, I will make sure nobody else talks with you either." He declared, more quietly, more deadly – his grip increasing. She reached his hands, trying to release herself , yet the wizard was stronger.

"'An object in possession seldom retains the same charm that it had in pursuit,' Arawn. Why would I want myself to be yours when I shine more without being possessed? And most important, why would you want it?" She asked.

_'Don't come to me with beautiful quotes only because they were written by old philosophers! You swore you would never leave me!'_

_'Technically, he was called 'the young', but if want something of my own authorship, let me tell you that I don't belong to anybody aside myself, and unless you find a slavery curse, I won't be owned by anyone!'_ She shrieked, wishing for her magic to take her to near the wall.

It was a convenient moment to remember that her magical teleportation was called apparation in the Wizarding World and that it was impossible to apparate in Hogwarts. The witch swore internally, knowing that swearing externally would be unwise considering Tom's obsession with property.

She gasped, feeling the pressure on her throat increase to the point of suffocation as her counterpart struggled to control himself. ' _Tom, release me.'_ She ordered to his deafness.

He let his left hand out of her neck - but that wasn't a sign of him following her command, but he grabbing her right hand, which had been trying to reach her wand at her pockets. "Aahh...ry-we...en." She tried to call out his nickname, her voice tried to make out, but it was more a whisper of a screech than anything; "-ee...ez".

The feeling of choking was a vortex of helplessness in which one's mouth opened and closed, trying to drawn some air to one's lungs. Being choked wasn't extremely painful, yet, it worse than being stabbed. When Tom finally released her, all she could do was pant for almost two whole minutes.

Tom didn't bend down to help her, or apologized, and although Anya could easily detect the regret in his eyes – mixture of it with pride, in a way she knew he wouldn't – she didn't feel like pardoning him anymore. "Hyacintho Ignis" she said, conjuring bluebell flames. "Oppugno."

The flames attacked the boy imperiously, and Anya smirked at the sight of the beautiful flames marking his cheek and arms. "Erinaceus" she jinxed before he could react, transfiguring him in a sea urchin with tiny spikes all over his body – the book in which she had first read about the spell said it was quite uncomfortable.

Still irate, she huffed, leaving him behind.

[][][][

Tom stared at the morning imprint of Volks Orakle, a newspaper of the Magical Germany. He didn't know a lot of German, but he recognized enough expressions to understand the message of the article: muggles were filth and they should be subjugated by the all-powerful wizards for something he was keen to translate as The Greater Good.

Tom bristled – it was sheer ignorance to believe that muggles were so weak like that- they were filthy, yes, but they were also merciless killers, not a flock of sheep.

"You disagree, Riddle?" Antonin Dolohov, the one who had brought the newspaper, inquired.

"I know that those muggles need to be controlled. But it would be reckless of us to continue categorizing them as weaklings. They are not powerful as us, fact, but they are countless, and they have developed deadly weapons in the past years." He explained while elegantly cutting a forkful of roast pork.

"What do you mean?" Orion questioned, selecting a few plates to his lunch.

"You will of course remember the Great War of the Muggles that happened during the 10's." All of his housemates nodded, having heard of it from their parents. The ministry hd forbidden all wizards of fighting in it, although only blood-traitors wanted to do it; however this war was greatly used by blood-purists as the main example of how muggles were animals. "They have made big advances in the warfare field since them, and may I add that their weapons were already quite deadly before – very similar to the Killing Curse, actually. They have aircrafts, which are very similar to a broomstick, however allow the pilot is able to shoot and kill easily while driving them. They have submarines, which are aquatic vessels that operate underwater for hours."

"Are you going to say that your mother was muggle now, Riddle? Merlin's beard, I had no idea you were such a filthy muggle-lover. Are you going to board their boats and navigate down the Thames while dancing with that filth?" Dolohov laughed, but nobody else did – all still too thoughtful over Tom's speech.

Tom glared at him, and the other wizard knew that if eyes could kill, he would be dead. Dolohov gulped. "My point is, Dolohov, muggles shouldn't be underestimated, even though they have weaker bodies. You would do well to remember that."

"Now, will you call your muggle friends here and ask them to kill me?" The boy snorted, and the tension in the air seemed to thicken. "You can't even keep control over your Puff-loving whore; I suppose the only ones you can control are some weak beasts, aren't they?"

A loud thump echoed through the Great Hall, and heads turned to see the glass that had exploded in Antonin's hands at the same time he was pushed out of the table by a very opportunistic wind. The irate looks of Abraxas's and Tom's faces were terrifying – the first one outraged that one could call a lady a whore and the second outraged at everything else.

"Dolohov, leave." Ragnar ordered. Anya and her assemble, which had just reached the Great Hall watched with interest as Antonin's face went through several shades of red until it reached purple. She understood what was happening when Tom pushed him once more – even though nobody else could point out it was him who had done it.

The boy finally grabbed his newspaper and stormed out the Hall. If she had fought with Tom three weeks before, she would have reached him and calmed him with ease. But as they weren't speaking, she simply ignored the scene and sat as far as she could from him. And as she wasn't there to calm him, Tom stormed out of the chamber minutes after his roommate, enraged.

Anya only hoped he remembered Dolohov was the godson of the Head of a pureblood house, and hence, he couldn't kill him.

[][][][

A week after the lunch incident, everyone was excited to the Halloween feast of tonight. It was a Monday, and their last class before lunch was Herbology. Tom watched jealously as Anya sat with her Ravenclaw friends and roommates.

To the luck of his housemates' arms, Anya's friends in Ravenclaw consisted of only girls, and because of that, Tom was able to contain his urge to dig his nails on others' flesh.

Anya greeted Maeve and Laws as Dorea sat at her side; the pureblood was enraged with Brianna, who had apparently gotten over Anya's rescue of hers and was now sitting very close to Riddle. Because of that, there was one seat open at Anya's left. The emerald-eyed girl flashed the other witch a smile and invited the only remaining student to sit with them – a bushy haired blonde girl with lots of freckles on her cute babyish face.

"Elizabeth, isn't it? Elizabeth Kneeler. I'm Nastya, well, Anastasia actually, and this is Dora. I suppose you know Laws and Maeve."

"Kearney, Cadogan." The girl nodded to her roommates before sitting at Anya's side without acknowledging her. Anya tried to ignore the fact the girl seemed to purposely avoid her, almost glued to Laws at her left side, yet with large gap between Elizabeth and herself.

"Now class, will you tell me what is this?" Professor Beery asked, as he held a plant whose main stem was a disproportionate purple bulb with leaves at the top. "Ms. Donbyre, Mr. Riddle, perhaps?" The Head of Hufflepuff asked good-naturedly. Herbert Beery was one of the first teachers to get used to their bickering, and Anya suspected he found it entertaining even. It wasn't what you would expect of the head of the house of friendship, but according to him, disagreements made ties stronger.

"As you wish, sir. The plant you are holding is Bouncing Bulb, which jumps around if not restrained. Young bulbs can be easy to handle, but when it reaches maturity, it can be the size of a doorway-" Anya answered.

"-and weight around seventy pounds. They can be aggressive if they feel threatened and may attack. A simple Knockback Jinx can handle a youngling, however to the matures, the incendio spell may be more useful-" Tom continued.

"-because they are quite strong. They are an ingredient to the Pompion Potion, which turns the drinker's head into a pumpkin, and are classified as-"

"-locomotive plants." Tom finished, looking in challenge at her. They had never had a reconciliation talk in that month, and to Anya, despite all her social-advances, it had been rather tiresome to bear all that coldness toward him. She refused to apologize, though, because she had no reasons to do so. He had tried to choke her in their fight in the middle of the month for goodness's sake!

"Bravo as always, Mr. Riddle, Ms. Donbyre. I believe ten points to Slytherin are in order. Now, today we are going to repot this beautiful violet bulbs, but you should be careful, because they are a bit feisty."

Anya exchanged a meaningful look with Dorea and minutes later, the two Slytherins had to concede the plant was impossibly jumpy. Most Ravenclaws were trying to stop the plants with their hands, as applied students, but Anya decided immediate measures were more than necessary. Grabbing her wand the girl immobilized her bulb with a smirk, making sure nobody else was looking.

"That's cheating!" Dorea protested at her ear.

"Well, we are Slytherins, aren't we?" She grinned as she watched the witch to copy her wand movements and freeze her own bulb.

Having repotted her plant easily after that, Anya decided a little of inter-house cooperation was always good for one's reputation. Elizabeth Kneeler was looking at her with suspicious, but she only returned it with an assuring smile. The half-blood only seemed to get more on edge; her eyes looked tiredly to where her bulb on the desk, which was jumping in circles in a jovial manner. As her cheek had a huge smudge on it, Anya offered the girl a handkerchief, which admittedly was too frilly to be effective – and maybe because of this the Raven jumped back and denied it with her head.

Sensing that the girl really didn't want to talk with her, but with enough will to one last attempt, Anya approached her. "If we work together, we might pinfold-"

"Leave me alone, you freak!" The girl shrieked, pushing her hand away and bumping her other hand into pot with a tentacle plant. "Don't touch me!"

Anya felt the pot shattering in contact with her neck flesh, but the worse of it was when the tentacles of the plant wrapped themselves around her neck, in experience very similar to what she had experienced two weeks before at a certain terrace – but harder, faster and stronger.

She felt to her knees as she felt the air leaving her lungs. The orphaned witch could see Dora and Laws trying to free her from the plant grasp only to have their hands trapped by it as well. She could hear the voice of Professor Beery tried to reach them from the other side of the greenhouse, and she knew why he was so alarmed. The blonde bitch had thrown a Devil's Snare at her! At her neck – it only needed some seconds to kill.

Fire wouldn't save herself – too dangerous. And being immobile – easier said than done. She cried out when she felt the plant squeezing her neck and the shards sinking deeply on her skin. That was real – it wasn't Tom trying to prove himself.

And then it wasn't real anymore. Anya opened her eyes and stared at a bundle of dark hair and a knife. Dark blue hooded eyes sighed in relief as he banished the conjured knife. Tom. Thanks Merlin.

"Accio shards" The boy summoned.

And then the bleeding started again, more and more. Without stop.

"Take her to the Hospital Wing!"


	8. Eighth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: lil'hawkeye3 (FF.net)  
> No feedback, no updates. I'm evil.

The tenth month of the 1938 year had been rather politically promising to Tom Riddle. He had established himself as the cleverest student in the first year, and one of the brightest in the school – of course, he was the smartest of all of them, but Hogwarts wasn't aware of that fact yet. He wasn't as influential as Malfoy, Lestrange, or Black- who had all inherited this influence – but people were starting to open up to him, confiding some minor secrets and asking for advice.

However, out of all the Octobers in his life, this had been the worst, personally speaking. Tom had fought with his closest supporter – well, maybe not supporter, more like a partner-in-crime – and at the end of the month, she was in the Hospital Wing recuperating from an assassination attempt by a crazy, filthy bitch that would be dead in days.

He promised that. Killing Kneeler would be enjoyable, he knew that. The fact that the girl was also responsible for making him spend the last night of October in an uncomfortable armchair by the side of his partner's bed - after throwing a tantrum to persuade the matron – wasn't exactly redeeming either.

With a frown he cracked his neck, hoping that Anya would be still asleep so he would be able to slip away and check the reactions of the student body to the whole event – it was early in the morning and Ms. Pomfrey had drugged her with so many sleeping potions that he was almost sure his eyes would meet a sleeping beauty.

No such luck.

Emerald eyes were staring at his form, up and running in an alert mind. She groaned, touching the area that had been perforated by the shards. Simple healing charms had managed to heal it – apparently, those wounds, while lethal if not treated, were pretty easy to be healed – so one who already had that knowledge would find no reason for her to groan. However, Tom knew it wasn't a pained groan, simply infuriated.

"Two asphyxiation attempts in two weeks. My lungs aren't quite happy."

The Hospital Wing was a wide, light chamber with several beds. In one of those was Anya. She was wide awake, her expression unreadable, her hair a mess. In her hands, she held a tome of what he recognized as her opinion of a light-reading – Titus Andronicus.

'A lot of mindless killing, I suppose, but it's still Shakespeare.' It was her usual opinion of that particular tragedy. The fact that she was reading it meant that she was probably thinking about him and his usual actions.

"I will leave after lunch. Apparently, while my injuries were quite deadly, they are easy to cure." She said, not looking up. "But you didn't come here to find this out did you? I should thank you for saving my life. Well, thanks. Farewell."

The iciness in her voice was obvious, but it seemed to steal all of his words from him. Finally, he managed to utter the beginnings of an apology: / First of all, I'm sorry for calling you a slut. I don't know from where it came. / Said the dark figure, with rumpled hair and dark profound circles under its eyes. Anya smirked at that – it was very obvious that Tom hadn't had the best night of sleep in the Hospital Wing.

_'It wouldn't be the first time you called me it, you know. Just because I don't act like a lady to you doesn't mean that I'm a whore.'_

_'Yes, I said I'm sorry, didn't I? I was just being obtuse, you know me.'_

_'I know you that are sounding like a jerk who doesn't really mean it. Do you mean it, Riddle?'_ She asked, trying to hide her amusement.

_'If you didn't know I meant it, you wouldn't be joking, would you?' He responded._

_'At least you are still clever.'_ She admitted, checking out her nails in a purposely bored-action.

 _'Cleverer than you…'_ He started out, making her look in disbelief at him. _'Alright, forget it.'_

She smirked. _'It will be my pleasure. Now, what do you want?'_

_'I'm sorry for choking you, also…I thought you were going to die yesterday. I was so terrified.'_

_'You will live well without me, Arawn. The others around you won't, but you will and you know it, so…'_

_'I need you. Actually, I cannot deal with you flirting around to catch my attention because you are too good at it. So, if you insist on flirting with people, I want it to be to my benefit._ **'**

Her laughter filled his ears and he knew his chances were better. _'Honesty, who knew you had it in you. Did you drink some veritaserum before coming here? It's the only way I can think you would manage to tell the truth.'_

 _'I wouldn't drink one drop of the truth potions even to save my life.'_ She gave him an unimpressed look that told him that she doubted of the veracity of that statement. _'Fine, I drugged myself before going to sleep – enough for five minutes of plain truth while awake. '_

 _'Which seem to have already ended by now.'_ She commented, sighing **.** _'No need to piss your pants, everything is fine. Forget it already.'_

_'I'm eager to forget. Now, how did you persuade Poppy? And why did you let me stay?'_

_'Oh, I figured out it was my responsibility to tell you to don't kill the bitch.'_

_'Oh, how so? Because I cannot point out why should I keep such scum alive when she dares to touch what is mine.'_ He snapped, his eyes meeting hers – the latter full of disbelief. "Ah, I'm apologizing, aren't I?"

"Indeed. The process doesn't claims declarations of possession."

_'But you won't play Quidditch.'_

_'I signed up to Ancient Studies and the Orchestra, figured out that we didn't have money to pay for a broomstick.'_ She explained **.** _'But if I hear of 'being unladylike' one more time, I will hex your brains out.'_

_'We don't have money for an instrument, either. Sorry for the 'unladylike' comments.'_

_'You better be sorry, however I know you aren't. Hogwarts has all of them; they give instruments to the students that are part of the orchestra. Although we can bring it to London, and if we want something else, we have to buy. I was thinking of stealing something.'_

"And what do you want play?" He inquired, returning to English as he grabbed her hand and caressed it.

"Cello, of course. But I could also use the harp. Why don't you join me and play the violin? You are good at it."

It was possible to say that both of them had some experience in playing instruments – if one were to consider the three years in which they had used a stolen cello and violin to perform in the street. Of course, just before Tom's eleventh birthday, a police offer had decided that there was no way two street-musician children could afford instruments like theirs and had taken those away.

"Perhaps. I also thought that Ancient Studies was interesting – though it's very similar to a mandatory class. It should be actually mandatory in my opinion – Egyptian spells, Greek spells, Hattians spells aren't something important?"

"Apparently, nobody attends it except three students because of the difficulty, so it's more like self-study with a teacher for guidance." She snorted. "At least we will know more than the others."

"Oh, really?" Tom drawled sarcastically.

Anya slapped him in mockery – with a surprising force for someone who had almost died the day before. Sometimes she had to wonder why she allowed his behaviour, but in a way, Tom was entertaining – like a megalomaniac pet. Oh, if he read her thoughts he would throw tantrum, but she also knew he thought of her more like a possession than anything else, so she supposed she could think of him as a pet. A cat probably, the devil-may-care kitten who suffered from obsessive jealously.

 _'But that scum must pay.'_ He said.

 _'Dolohov was already your plaything of the month._ **'** She argued, pointing to the sleeping body of their housemate on a bed at the opposite side of the chamber, a boy who had been a guest at the Hospital Wing since the week before.

_'Today is November 1st, October is already gone.'_

_'Indeed?'_

Tom grinned. Sometimes, he could only love Anya.

[][][][]

"How is she?" It was the first question that Tom was asked as soon as he walked into the Snake's Nest, uttered by a concerned Dorea Black, her hair in a tight braid – which was very similar to the braid the others, including most of the boys was wearing. "She is well, Dora. There is no need to do my hair, my lady."

The girl's hands stopped shaking its fists and she giggled a bit, forcing a pout. "Oh, you would have looked good!"

"I prefer them in you. Now, if you excuse me, I wish find a particular book." He declared, already climbing the stairs to his bedroom.

Their room was the largest in the Slytherin dungeons, probably because the rooms had extension charms to accommodate the number of students that was sorted into the house every year. No other year had seven he-snakes. His bed was towards the ending, which was actually a good, reserved, place to be when you shared a room. And the bed was far better than the one he shared with Anya in the orphanage – not that he had expected less.

Tom opened his five-locks trunk with the lock that opened the library assortment. He knew where it was – a small tome he had bought at the beginning of the year in a forgotten corner at Obscurus Books on Horizont Alley.

'From Oneroi to Sandman: A Guide to Dreamers of Psionic.'

'Dream Manipulation is one of the most delicate fields of magic in the world – if not the most. Although extremely imprecise and volatile, it is also undetectable and effective if performed correctly. The amount of power and experience in casting meaningless to this field of magic, however, the mastery of this art can only be achieved by those with great control over their minds and magic. (…)

The implantation process was once used by those who wished to control their victims actions – if only slightly – before the creation of the imperious curse. It consists in implanting an idea several times in the victim's dream in order to guide their action to a certain action. There is no real incantation to such process as it consists of basically projecting one's mind to other's.

As concluded by its practitioners, the implantation process is highly unstable and it achieves different levels of success – or failure. Even though, it works efficiently in bringing distraught – or suspicion – to someone's mind. The most known victim of such process is Uric the Oddball, a a wizard whose dreams were affected by a rival magizoologist. (…)'

Tom smirked. That was perfect, and perfectly explainable. The innocent Elizabeth Kneeler fell into madness for almost killing her fellow year mate. She was declared mentally unstable and soon moved to the Janus Thickey Ward in St. Mungos. Nobody could say that there was no way the girl felt responsible for that as she had planned attacking Anya – which was true – as they were all insisting that no eleven-years old girl would try to maim another.

A load of bullshit in his opinion. However, he didn't have parents that would fight for their children's safety.

But one day, Elizabeth Kneeler would be far away from Hogwarts, and then, he would exact his vengence. Who had allowed that filthy cunt to touch Anya? He wanted to cackle madly, but he was pretty sure that wouldn't be very good for his image within the school. Besides, cackling madly was overdramatic. He preferred silence.

Abraxas entered into their room with his fingers entangled in his fishtail braid in a failed attempt to undo it. Tom snickered as the blond grabbed his brush, checking his image on the mother-of-pearl looking glass on his hand. "I advise you to shorten the length of your hair if you wish to avoid Dora's future attempts to braid hair."

"Don't doubt her ability to braid every inch of hair, my lord."

"You realise that if you start calling me 'my lord' I will expect you to continue to do so, don't you Abraxas?" Tom questioned, locking his trunk again while the Malfoy scion snorted.

"Tommy-boy, then." Tom hit his blond hair with the book. "As you wish, my lord."

"I'd suggest you to lighten your attempts of being annoying or else you will end up dead – however, I fail to see why should I stop your death. Besides, I know you wouldn't be able."

"Certainly, as what you call annoying it's what usually brings the ladies to me." Tom waved him off. "Speaking of it, how is Nastya? And where are you going?"

"She is alright, I believe she will be around in time for lunch. And I have some studying to do."

"Our History period will start in half hour."

"It's history. I would be able to sneak in the middle of the class and Binns would never notice. And do not worry, Carpe still has to hear of my name." He said, closing the door not quickly enough to not hear the words: "You realise we are still in November, don't you?"

Yes, he did.

[][][][]

"What happened to the Raven's hourglass? And to ours?" Anya inquired as soon as she arrived to lunch. "How were Dumbledore and Binns?"

"You happened, Nastya." Dorea answered at the same time Orion muttered something like 'dreadful'. "-and Tom. The ravens have only sixty-seven points now after Kneeler, and Tom earned two hundred points for his first-aid actions."

"Which means that we will probably win the house cup if you and Tom don't get caught by Carpe while sneaking around." Ragnar said. "I'm not sure if I should bet against or with you in this one."

"Don't bet then. How do you know we sneak around?" She said, serving herself a slice of chocolate cake and ignoring the remaining of the lunch – she had just been freed from the Hospital Wing, she had the right to avoid healthy eating habits.

"We sleep in the same room, my lady, and we attend the same classes. Although we don't know where you are, we know when you aren't at our side." Abraxas said. "Don't underestimate us, my father says it's not wise."

Anya nodded, easy-going, smiling to the two Hufflepuffs who had approached their table. "Nastya, are you alright? Professor Dippet said your wounds had already been healed by the yesterday's dinner but Professor Beery said they were quite bad, and everyone else agreed." Deodor asked, with a worried look. Sean was staring at the pale green scarf around her neck with a similar expression. "I'm fine, thanks. I'm only wearing the scarf because Poppy insisted that I was not supposed to feel a light breeze on my neck."

At their doubtful glances, Anya took the scarf away and showed her healed, perfect – if not a bit reddish – skin to their relief. Noticing the sudden unease of the badgers around so many snakes –or of the snakes around the two badgers, she smiled. "You want a slice of cake? It's marvellous."

"No, thanks. There is some at our table. We will see you at midnight for Astronomy?" Sean asked, a bit unsure, now that it was very obvious that Anya was once again hanging out with Tom. "I see no reason why not." She answered, making they smile and bid farewell to her and the girls.

"And now, we are fraternizing with badgers." Abraxas sighed loudly. "What have you done to the world, my lady? My father-"

"Don't be a daddy's boy, Abraxas, and don't be harsh with them. Deodor is an incredible cooker, and Sean is a great masseur." Dora intervened. "Together, they are better ladies' men than you."

"You don't think that, do you cousin?" Abraxas asked Brianna, who was apparently, his second cousin. The girl blushed. "No. But I fear I must agree with Dora if I want to be alive tomorrow."

"Who is going to kill who? I volunteer to kill Kneeler." Laws announced as she dragged Maeve with her. "Everyone else I object, of course. Are you okay, Nastya?"

"Fine, breathing and alive, no worries. Dora is going to kill Brianna, but you will need to compete with Tom if you want to kill Kneeler." Anya told her. "You won't want to join in, will you Maeve?"

"I'd prefer to watch." She said, shyly but not without temperance, making Ragnar laugh. "Brave girl, despite all silence nature. Are you a lion in a cloth?"

"Maeve? She is a raven in everything but the wings." Brianna spoke, making the ginger Ravenclaw shy away into a book. "Cadogan on other hand was certainly sorted incorrectly." She said in a meaning manner, with a wink to Abraxas.

"An unladylike tomboy, in Malfoy's words. Does the fact you are all sitting together means that you have made up with Riddle? Because I preferred when you hadn't." Laws said harshly.

"Tom is my best friend, Laws, despite everything."

"Yes, he is, isn't he?" The brunette Ravenclaw seemed to wake up from her rage second later. "Sorry, I will going to the class ahead; come Maeve." And with that, they walked out the Great Hall, leaving the Slytherins to return to their food.

"Eoessa Cadogan has gone early to class." Dorea whistled, taking a sip of gillywater. "Has that ever happened in history?"

"Will the Gryffindors come here too?" Orion inquired as he watched Harfang Longbottom getting up from his seat. But the Longbottom heir didn't cross the room to talk with her. He simply put his hands around his neck, showing his tongue with panicked expression. Freeing his neck, his left hand put its thumb up while the right put its down, in a very meaningful question.

Anya raised her thumb up, laughing at the lion's antics as he put both of them up with a grin and swayed his hips in a little dance. "Longbottom is very unique, isn't he?" Ragnar asked.

"Manly, I would say, after all I call him Fang." Anya made a face. "But I suppose unique fits. He is sweet."

"Well, I know that you must be the most popular Slytherin among the other houses, Nastya. Kneeler has no idea what she did." Orion commented, finally finishing stuffing himself with food. "We have Astronomy today, do you know what does it mean?"

"That today is the day you are going to win some points to us?" Ragnar snickered.

Anya unconsciously laughed with the others, not really paying attention to the rest of the talk. Orion was right, she was very popular with the others first-years, while Tom was more popular with their upperclassmen in Slytherin. And he was also right about Kneeler, even with the nobody saying it had been an intentional attack. Her house was already ignoring her for losing so many points to them, and her other classmates seemed to take as offensive that she had harmed the 'only decent Slytherin' in the school.

Anya smirked, Kneeler would have no idea what hit her. The fact that Tom had just entered in the Great Hall carrying a plain black book – untitled – that she knew to be a bit dark in its nature, only confirmed her suspicious.

[][][][]

Tom Marvolo Riddle was pretty sure that he was the only Slytherin in history to sneak into the female dormitories of Ravenclaw house in the middle of night with nothing more than his…magical flying abilities. Then again, he was also pretty sure he was the only flying student Hogwarts had ever had, aside from Anya.

Apparently, while the widows of the dorms had broomstick-repelling charms, they didn't have flying-repelling wards – something about the owls, he presumed. It was a pretty clever thing to do – if you didn't have a blood-thirsty student who was actually able to fly without a broom, or a flying carpet, or a winged horse, or whatever. He wondered if they had security against animagi, but that would be too much, wouldn't it? How many aroused students would actually become an animagus to sneak into the dorms? No, there were broom closets for those who wanted to snog or shag.

Or male dorms. Those weren't warded.

If one of the girls woke up, it would be pretty weird. Thinking of that, he had slipped sleeping potions into their drinks at the dinner. Don't ask him how. In short, it had involved accompanying Anya to the Ravenclaw table and Cadogan almost declaring war against him.

The dream implantation had ended up being an very easy process in which he had to sleep – yes, sleep in the middle of the girl's dorm at ravenclaw, because of that, the sleeping potions – and fall into a lucid dream. After that, was only a question of projecting his dream into her and focusing in a thought – the one he wished to implant. Quite simple.

Although, it wasn't really simple – and losing control over the lucid dream, which was difficult to produce, usually ended up with several nightmares. Nightmares while projecting his dream would put his in coma as his mind would most probably be lost. Janus Thickey Ward for him.

However, he had successfully influenced the dreams of his roommates for weeks now, so he was quite confident.

Tom grinned. In this case, he needed a snake, and lots of snow


	9. Ninth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: lil'hawkeye3 (FF.net)

The days came and went away, but Anya never talked again with Elizabeth Kneeler – even after the girl's fall from the staircase of Astronomy's tower and her five week stay at the Hospital Wing. The school was painted by white – the snow falling early that year.

"Carpe is at the greenhouses, the prefects are covering the rest. But ye don't need to worry, Banshee's Grin. They never ambush at the Dark Tower."

"Thank you, Griffin Beak, for everything." She said to the pirate lord who had guided them there.

"It's me joy, Banshee's Grin. Take care of my bucko Barmy Niffer, lass. Fair winds, Baron Wyvern, I'm shoving off."

Tom looked at Anya. "Is he always-"                                   

"His surname is Digswell. Do you want to talk about this or enjoy the last night of the year and your birthday?" Anya interrupted.

"So will I finally know why you leave the Slytherin dorm every weekend?"

"I won't ask how you know that."

"Dorea confides to Orion. Orion confides to everyone else."

"We really need to make his tongue a bit tighter, don't we?"

"Desperately. You made friends with a ghost – a pirate ghost who is immoral enough to be rule-breaker – so that you can slip away in the middle in the night?" He inquired.

"Something like that. He is fun, and good with Peeves and Carpe."

"Should I be worried?"

"Only if I get caught. As you also slip away in the middle of the night–" Seeing his surprised look, she chuckled. "You noticed that out of the two of us it's you who shares a room with Orion, didn't you? As I was saying, as you sneak out as well and I have no idea to where, I find it unfair that you worry over me… So, someone once said that if we are not ashamed to do it, we should not be ashamed to say it, so let me tell the truth." She said, her eyes shining in the dark snowing night.

"I'm pretty sure Cicero's condition was not being ashamed of thinking. But I usually like it when you reveal the truth, so go ahead."

And then she pushed him out the tower.

Tom gasped as he felt the floor leaving his feet and afterward, he laughed. Anyone else would have a fit if pushed from a tower somewhat high, but not him – he was joyful. Trust Anya to be sly doing the harshest thing in the world.

Not that he hadn't been levitating himself to the Ravenclaw Tower. But he had been just using his abilities as a kind of invisible elevator, which couldn't be compared to free fall jumping from a prison tower.

Different from Anya, he wasn't obsessed by flying, although he greatly enjoyed it. Nevertheless, holding back a jubilant shout had been one of the most difficult things he had done in life – the freedom you could experience in the air was unutterable to those who had never left the ground or a broomstick.

Above him, the young witch jumped into the air as well, her feral grin unable to translate everything. Even with the soft snow hindering the flight that couldn't be a better birthday gift. Tom smiled as he reached for Anya. "Happy birthday, Arawn."

He checked out his stolen wristwatch. "Happy New Year, Anya."

They landed in the Middle Courtyard just in time to hear a shout coming from far away and Anya noticed that, yes, a prefect had seen them – although probably not recognized neither. Time to go. With a giggle, Anya grabbed Tom's wrist and dragged him to the shadows, now she only had to find a certain dead pirate captain.

They really had to learn the silencing charm.

][][][][]

It had been a chaotic beginning of the year to both Magical and Muggle Community. Minister Fawley had stated a week before in the Wizengamot that any German attack on France would be considered an attack on Britain. But everybody knew that it wouldn't be enough – that soon, these conservative enemies would be marching in the direction of France. In the Muggle World, Neville Chamberlain had done the same thing Hector Fawley had, probably in a conjunct act.

Yet, everybody knew that they would be soon be substituted.

Tom knew what he needed to do for now – some allies among the other houses, even though that was mostly Anya's area of influence than his. However, at that middle of February, one day before St. Valentine's, Tom wasn't thinking of politics, or of a lover. He was instead thinking of torture.

Elizabeth Kneeler had just left the Library and gone up to the third floor, her arms full of books, a feral expression her face. She was alone, as the school had gotten used to see her, since the few friends that had stuck with her after losing so many points didn't survive the fact that she couldn't hold real conversations anymore – always mumbling and spatting at anyone who approached her.

Hiding a few blocks behind her, in the Trophy Room, Tom amplified his voice with a sonorous charm and muffled his presence, hissing: ‘ _Everyone sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are–_ ‘ The girl (obviously) didn't understand a word of it, but watching her flinch and look around for the source of the hiss showed Tom that the sibilant sounds were enough to scare her.

 _‘–and those few dare not oppose themselves to the opinion of the many. Interesting isn't it? Let's analyse it, shall we? To me, it's pretty obvious what Niccolo Machiavelli meant here, you will agree with me when I say that people won't oppose your persona as long as you don't give any reason – or chance – for them to do so. As Sun Tzu wrote, if you are indulgent, but unable to make your authority felt; kind-hearted, but unable to enforce your commands; and incapable, moreover, of quelling disorder: then your soldiers must be likened to spoilt children; they are useless for any practical purpose.’_ The girl, he noticed, was paralyzed in her place. Tom watched with pleasure as the Ravenclaw fell to her knees and tried to crawl to where his voice were leading.

 _‘But, while I keep my stance firm, my allies near, but subordinated, there won't be any reason to doubt my abilities and hence, my leadership. I'm proud of having capable agents as allies, and I'm sure some of them would them able to unmask my character if they felt the need.’_ He sighed, dramatically, the sound of his breathing echoing through the passageway. _‘Because of that, you will understand that I cannot allow your crimes to be overlooked.’_

She was near now, one block away. Deciding it was time to go; Tom controlled the urge to hex her – or dig his knife into her skin, creating a beautiful and macabre pattern of scars – he pushed the large mirror that covered the door to a secret passage aside, unlocking it and walking away with a smirk.

][][][][]

Most girls of Slytherin seemed to have gathered around the Great Lake to skate in the pond near it. It seemed that skating was a common wizarding sport for young ladies and Anya had admit that they were good – better than her; but that wasn't saying much, as she wasn't extremely skillful in it, having only skated twice.

However, the Black sisters – Callidora, Cedrella and even the shy Charis – were almost professionals. Anya laughed as she watched Charis and Cedrella dancing in Callidora's arms. "Merlin, they are good." She said, drinking her hot chocolate with a grin, seated on the couch Lucretia, Orion's two years older sister, had transfigured from a large rock.

"They life in Blackthorn State, in the pennies. There is a small lake down their house that is always frozen." Dorea explained, helping herself with another pastry. "I used to go there every winter to skate. The weather in Devon is terrible this period of the year; I'm not jealous of my sister."

"Is Cassie fine?" Lucretia inquired. "I have forgotten to send her a letter asking about her well-being. Did granduncle find her a fiancé? I would say not, otherwise father would have informed me, but it's possible."

"Grandfather is your great-granduncle." Walburga sang in the high-pitched voice she used most of time. Lucretia tsk-ed loudly in reprobation, shaking her head as if she had seen an irremediable case. At the lake, Cedrella had skated away from her sisters and Callidora was spinning her younger sister in her arms, in a surprising demonstration of strength.

"I fear he didn't." Dorea said. "Somehow, I believe my sister is fated to end up a spinster. I would dread Pollux's destiny, but he was thankfully successful in the marriage quest." Dorea regarded with a look.

"You should start thinking about your situation, Dora, considering uncle's lack of reliability." Callidora pointed out as she approached them. "Father was very quick in matching us, although Cedrella isn't so acceptable."

"Why not? She would be marrying Caesar Malfoy, Lord Malfoy's young brother, wouldn't she?" Laelia Burke, a fourth year, interrupted. "That's a desirable arrangement." If one were to ignore the fact the man was ten years older, but Anya knew they did.

"What about you, Nastya; is your engagement with Riddle considered desirable by both parties?" Lucretia inquired.

"I fear you have misunderstood, as have most of the school. I'm not engaged to Tom." Anya stated, offering her hand to help the skinny Charis sit and watching as Cedrella sat at Dorea's side. "Now, let's cease this talk. Tell me, is star-gazing the standard hobby of your family? And I've recently entered into the Orchestra, playing cello, any of you play something?"

][][][][]

"We can leave it for later, if you want. I know you are worried about your parents." Eoessa's voice said from her post behind her easel, her clothes dirtied by the oil paints. She took her wand with a mutter of "Sicca oxydatum."

"It's fine. It isn't as if I can help with anything, so allow me to do something productive at least." Anya said, waving the other's worries away. "Why don't you just use a hot air charm?"

"Because it will make everything awful. Besides, the colours take different times to dry, so I won't just blow everything and hope it's good. It won't work." She explained. "Lift your head a bit, will you? There."

Anya shifted on her cushion at the feet of the rowan tree. She wore a white cute knee-length strap dress which would have allowed her to be frozen to death at the snow if it wasn't for the presence of the ivory fur blanket around her. "Where did you found these, by the way?"

"My sister is friends with the leader; I borrowed the dress. Dorea was using the blanket before the holidays, and she gave me as Christmas's present as, quoting: 'I have found it so interesting'. Keep your eyes closed, snowflakes are glued to your lashes and that's beautiful."

"Thanks, Essy." Anya said, closing her eyes. She was glad that her Ravenclaw friend hadn't insisted further in talking about her supposed parents back in Austria. Oh, she was worried, mind you, but more about the political implications of everything than about her fake family.

It had all happened that morning, after she had proven herself unable to have a relevant dream. She had written about it, nevertheless, but she doubted that a man turning into a rat and then stabbing cheese was something important – she had felt a bit ridiculous writing about it. Tom had been obviously frustrated by her lack of progress on controlling her visions, and she told him she didn't give a fuck about it. She would never be able to predict the future of Wizarding Britain.

He disagreed.

She felt her eyelids weighting as she snuggled in the blanket, feeling the warm of her body being enclosed near it. The weather was weird, the oncoming spring was beginning to give its firsts signal, however, the snow still covered most of the grounds – a good weird, she supposed. Anya felt herself slipping into sleep as she modelled for her friend.

A woman in pink robes, with an ornate ginger wig and too much of fat. A girl with glasses and pimples. A handsome man with dark wavy hair. A man with a messed hair and a red nose. A living skeleton. A woman with a long shiny dark hair and strong jaw. A man with a very long beard. A woman with white wispy pixie hair. A man with a crooked nose and dark greasy hair.

They were all dead. She didn't know why.

And at her feet, the last remaining corpse – with frozen emerald-green eyes and a long mane of dark hair. Herself. A lightning-shaped scar bleeding at her forehead – Anya recognized it, she had a paler stain of same shape at the same place.

Anya looked at the wand in her hand. She recognized it as well. Phoenix feather, thirteen and one half inches long, yew. Tom's wand. The wand was connected to the wand in her hands; it was of the same phoenix feather, made of holly; even though she was already dead.

"Nastya!"

Anya woke up to stare at the very near face of Eoessa Cadogan. "Laws! I'm sorry, did I slip out of my position?"

"You did slip out of reality, but that was alright, you are still a nice model while sleeping. But I don't want you to be near her." Anya quickly followed the Ravenclaw's point of view and noticed that Elizabeth Kneeler had just entered at the courtyard.

"She should be thanking Merlin that Professor Fairwent moved her to the second-year girls room, otherwise she would be already be dead if I had a say in it."

"I can protect myself from a first year, Laws. And you would have to compete with Arawn to kill her."

"Don't compare me with Riddle; I would never treat you like that." Anya wouldn't be the first one to say that Laws may have taken her lack of fondness for Tom to another level of hate. It was almost as if the thought of him hurt the artistic girl.

"Well, why don't you gather your things? The sun is almost setting, and I would enjoy grabbing some food. I will go ahead, there won't be any use in throwing myself into a fight, anyway." She said, using the blanket as a mantle, putting her would-be-frozen-without-magic feet into her pair of slippers and fastening her wand-holster – a Yule gift from Ragnar – around her arm. Quite the image, sundress, fur cloak and slippers;

The way from the Frontal Gardens to the Great Hall was quite short, but it seemed to get longer as Anya listened to the compassed steps that accelerated and slowed every time she did. It was pretty obvious she was being followed, and one look at the looking glass told Anya by whom.

As soon as she reached the large chamber, she smiled to Tom, who was relaxing at the Slytherin table. Everyone in their year was around, even Dolohov and that was good.

Because, even though nobody could stop the shout of the curse that aimed her, it was good to know nobody would blame her for starting a fight.

Like a true Slytherin, Anya liked to have others present to witness her innocence. She smirked as she turned to take her revenge.


	10. Tenth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: DarkFourTrisNox (FF.net)

 

 

Wiping the floor with a bird had just gotten a new meaning to Ragnar Lestrange. The wizard had been trying to decipher his most charismatic friend, who was casually explaining the fire-making spell to Avery, when his fiancée – well, according to them, they weren't engaged, but everyone else thought so – slammed open the large doors of the Great Hall and dodged a disarming spell.

What followed afterward was a mixture of intelligent use of spells they had learnt that year by a Slytherin and a bunch of complicated spells by a Ravenclaw. The most intriguing fact was how basic Anya's spells were – anyone who had seen the books the witch read, or her wand practicing – could pinpoint the fact that her knowledge was much deeper than that. The heir of Lestranges followed the girl's glance to the teachers at the Head Table with interest. Intriguing.

The girl quickly transfigured the arrows the Ravenclaw had summoned into birds with aviafors spell. Kneeler tried to hit Anya with the Curse of Bogies, but again the emerald-eyed witch dodged it.

"Serpensortia!" Elizabeth Kneeler enchanted, summoning a snake from the tip of her wand.

Anya conjured a jet of flames at the other's feet with a mutter of "Incendio", and taking advantage of the blonde's distraction, the Slytherin jinxed her opponent with the knockback jinx.

"Spogify." Anya charmed, making the floor in which her attacker was falling bouncy enough to repel the freckled girl like a trampoline. Anya seized the other's surprise at her return to illuminate the tip of her wand directly over Kneeler's eyes.

Anya took the wand of the dazed Ravenclaw's hand with a smirk, just remembering the summoned snake after defeating the other. It was an adder, venomous, and it had just approached an Eoessa Cadogan, who had just opened the doors of the Great Hall.

The worst of it was than in the confusion of Anya's and Kneeler's little fight, the thing seemed a bit agitated. The look of bewilderment in the eyes of Ragnar's housemate substituted the winning smirk she had before.

And then, Anya hissed.

The snake stopped dead on its tracks and Ragnar could only think that maybe he should be more careful with Riddle's fiancée. But his trail of thoughts was interrupted when the bitchy Ravenclaw shrieked. "See! She is a dark, evil! She is going to kill us all, the serpent who hisses!" The girl wept loudly. "It is going to attack our beds; it's going to bury us in snow." The girl cackled, throwing herself in the floor, her hands reaching for something nobody else could see.

Tom got up to his feet, deciding to use that moment to reveal his abilities as well. He approached Anya and hissed to the snake before vanishing it into a puff of black smoke as the blonde Ravenclaw yelled out loud, grabbing his ankle and spitting in it.

Tom shook the half-crazed girl off with a jerk, as if she was just filth in his feet. And maybe she was.

"Are you accusing the founder of my house of being a dark lord, Ms. Kneeler?" Professor Slughorn spoke up, waking to where Anya was, as did Tom, the second reaching his partner first and vanishing the snake into a puff of black smoke.

"Are you saying that Paracelsus was an evil wizard, Ms. Kneeler?" Tom questioned. "Are you saying that I and Anya are evil? Because we can speak with snakes – a non-magical reptile?" He said with amusement.

"Tom is right. Being a Parselmouth is a gift, and we would do well to remember that." The headmaster said as he also got up. "Attacking a fellow student – a fellow witch – behind her back it's a despicable behaviour that won't be accepted in Hogwarts. All involved are to accompany Professor Dumbledore to my office."

Tom and Anya easily approached the Deputy Headmaster, but the same couldn't be said of the Ravenclaw, who seemed to have lost any trace of sanity she had had, and was now mumbling in the middle of room, shivering. Tom, Anya noticed, seemed strangely satisfied by the whole incident. When their Transfiguration teacher was obliged to stun the girl and levitate her, Anya was sure that her partner was making a meaningful effort to contain his glee.

[][][][][]

It was impossible to tell how would the others house react to the news of Anya and Tom being Parselmouths after the headmaster had chastised Elizabeth Kneeler in public – and sent her to St. Mungos, as she had apparently lost her mind – but in Slytherin, the students threw a party worthy of a victory by the Quidditch Team as soon as the Parselmouths returned from the Headmaster Office, in which they had had a meeting with Dippet, Dumbledore and Slughorn to sort things out. Tom had left the office with an evil grin on his face, his delight obvious to anyone who cared to watch.

Anya was also pretty excited to see the faces of their fellow students when the headmaster announced at the breakfast of the next morning that they would have one less student in their year, as she was being interned in the Janus Thickey Ward. It was hard to contain such excitement and telling their housemates the truth; however, she remembered seconds before almost slipping it to Orion, it was in name of mirth.

The fifth-year prefect Tamora Prewett had summoned a grass snake and they would talk with it once in a while. The snake adored the ground the Parselmouths walked on like most of them did, so Anya left most of talking to Tom, not really interested in the snake's words.

"So, will you be marrying your cousin?" Anya almost choked with her chocolate liqueur when she heard Dorea's question. "What?!" She shouted, attracting the attention of everyone around the common room.

"Well, you don't really look like brother and sister, but Parseltongue runs on the family, you know." Dorea pointed out.

"Indeed. Actually, is Britain, there is only known Parselmouth, the founder of our house. You must be descendants of Salazar Slytherin!" Orion seemed to notice.

"Yes, genius. It's mainly because of that we are celebrating; don't tell me you just realized it." Dorea chastised, and if the ashamed expressions around the common room were anything to go by, Orion wasn't the only one.

"Your mothers were cousins, weren't they? I remember you talking about something like that in day we meet." Orion said, ignoring Dorea's comment. "You didn't remember that, did you, genius?" He provoked his sibling, sticking his tongue out.

"Alright you two." Ragnar intervened. "So, it comes from your maternal side of family. Did your father know that he was marrying a Parseltongue? What does he do by the way?"

"I don't think he knew, we keep it a secret usually. I apologize for not telling you before, speaking of it." Tom told them with a sheepishly look that Anya knew very well to be fake. " And he works in the real estate sector."

"Oh, a true lord then." Abraxas commented.

"Indeed." Tom made sure to look thoughtful before standing up. "Actually, I need to ask him about it, now."

"Remember the curfew starts in forty minutes, Riddle." The fifth-year prefect called out. "No need to have our points deducted. The Ravens may be out of the game, but we still have the badgers and lions to worry."

"You may lose your sleep over Puffs and Griffins, Prewett, but I will stick to my sleep beauty." Tom said before closing the door. A look of the female prefect made Anya rise up her feet too, although she did it with reluctance. "I suppose my parents will have interesting information to offer, as well. And someone gives a rat to the snake, it is begging for it."

[][][][][]

The descendants of Salazar Slytherin, Tom had never thought that he and Anya could be related, and more than that, that they could be related to one of the founders of Hogwarts – admittedly, he had never researched much about their abilities without a wand except Anya's seer abilities; he had no idea that they could be that rare.

That changed everything in his research on their families.

He knew a bit about how bigoted against muggles his ancestor was. There was no way the family of the descendants of Salazar Slytherin would mingle with muggles – his mother had to be magical, his father would never have approached a muggle. Maybe she was really weak-powered. Perhaps she had been the target of some curse – a curse, which she had been hit with at the end of her pregnancy. It was possible that it had happened during a combat, and his father had been killed in it as well.

So, his parents were…weak?

Tom contained a grimace, watching students walking to their dorms from the Great Hall as he headed to the Library in order to get some books on his ancestor. No, his parents couldn't be weak; after all they shared the same blood of the one of the greatest wizards of history, the blood of Tom.

No, that couldn't be. Maybe they had killed each other? It was a possibility.

Tom knew that Madam Litruth, the librarian, was out in her chambers by now, as the Library closed at 8 p.m. With a quick unlocking charm, Tom opened a gap on the doors and slipped inside.

Waving his hand, he summoned all books in the Library that had a paragraph at least on Salazar Slytherin and a mention of Parseltongue. Almost a hundred books flied in the direction of one of the tables. Great, now he had to sort them out and make a copy of those he wished to take with the doubling charm.

Tom decided he had enough reading material twenty minutes later and banishing the books to their shelves, he sighed. Thanks Merlin for the undetectable extension charms, or else he would have a lot of difficult carrying all those books around.

A snicker behind him made him turn on his heels to look at his partner-in-crime. "He works in the real estate sector? What a fancy way to say that Mr. Riddle is just more a lazy pureblood lord who does nothing more than rent lands and live on his family money."

"Most of pure-blooded Englishmen live like this, albeit they are more sociable than father. Not all of us are hard-worker as Aunt Harisa and Uncle Sigmund." He pointed out, arching his eyebrows to Anya. "How are your parents by the way?"

"Wonderful." She lied, reaching for strand of hair in his forehead. "Too long, I will cut it latter." She decided. "They are making a fortune with Blibbering Humdingers choirs. Frankly, I cannot believe how someone would appreciate their music, it's dreadful. But who am I to disagree?"

"Blibbering Humdingers?"

"You don't know them? Oh, what would Salazar think of such illiteracy? The Quibbler published an entire article about them!" She mocked, with outrage to visible in her face to be truthful. A moment later, her face turned thoughtful. "I wonder how Kneeler did know of our gift."

"She probably overheard us. We weren't very careful while our discussion with it." Tom said, unfazed. "Ergo, we will have to be more wary, our mistakes proved to be rather troublesome. I don't want people knowing of our more useable abilities."

Anya nodded. It wouldn't be that difficult – she had learnt the silencing charm now, and she had a network of ghosts working in her name, led by Griffin Beak. Her hands held Tom's shoulders and Anya wrapped her legs around his waist. "Carry me." She ordered.

"That's unbecoming of a lad-"

"Hush!"

"As you wish, my fair lady." Behind him, Anya grinned. There were very few times you could take advantage of Tom, one of them being when he was in the process of redemption. Of course, he only allowed someone to take advantage of him if one was as nonsensical as Anya; otherwise, he would deny one's requests completely. "Back to the matter, the Quibbler? That journal to half-insane, half-mad and half-crazy asylum residents?"

Anya laughed. "That one. Speaking of half-crazy asylum residents, I wonder what happened to Kneeler. Laws actually mentioned her weird behaviour, but she forgot to mention that she had turned out to be insane."

They walked through the dungeons for a little more, until they reached the Slytherin dorm. Before, they entered, though; Tom pulled her aside and asked in a whisper: "Have you had any dreams?"

"I would have given you the notebook but I had none." She lied, not feeling like sharing the dream she had had at the garden while modelling. It wasn't about Germany, anyway.

"Have them tonight."

"Yes, sir."

[][][][][]

The Slug Club: A club for the most promising young witches and wizard out of the British Wizarding World. A prestigious honour, everyone who had been part of it had found a place in this narrow and selective world. To the best and the brightest;

An anthem of connections.

He smirked, watching the collection his professor had gathered through the years: the Gryffindor Quidditch star, Ezra Campbell, a half-blood who was said to have a contract with the Montrose Magpies already; the son of the current Minister for Magic, Albrecht Fawley, a Hufflepuff fifth year; Georgiana Moon, the half-blood niece of the rising in office Leonard Spencer-Moon who was said to be a brilliant Ravenclaw fifth year; Blishwick, who Tom suspected only had been invited because of the fact he belonged to Slughorn's house team; the half-blood son of an unspeakable, a third-year Gryffindor boy named Levin Stanley; the heir of the Prewetts, Ignatius, a seventh year raven; he recognized Euphemia Cadogan with her boyfriend; the heir of the Notts, Caelum; the Burke scion, Ferbus; as expected, all Blacks seemed present; and every pureblood heir Slughorn could put his hands in.

Tom was aware of having the most exciting conversation in the ballroom – he was pretty sure that if Slughorn hadn't been dancing with Madam Bagshot he would have come to them already. Fawley's father was constantly being criticized by political analysts due to his inattention to the turmoil in the German government; and some were even suggesting a vote of no-confidence towards the current Minister and his replacement by Moon's uncle. The tension between the fifth year badger's and raven's houses was palpable – worse than the Slytherin/Gryffindor feud some said – but not worse than the tension between Georgiana Moon and Albrecht Fawley.

Their current subject of their talk was the prohibition of the use of flying carpets – one of the oldest law projects that no pureblood conservationists wanted to approve. "The muggles have developed an engine called aircrafts which allow them to fly in the air, and soon they will perfect a device that allows them to detect flying objects near it which they call radar. In such scenery, you want to allow wizards to fly around their magical carpets?" Moon spoke in a jesting manner.

"What's the problem? Nobody in the other countries worries over it! Why should we?"

Tom contained his sneer at the poor eloquence of the teenager. Frankly, how did he intend to ascertain his point with such argument? "First of all, because such device is being mainly developed in England. After that, I must point out that we are famous for being pioneers, why shouldn't we be the first to act?"

"So you are with the filthy blood-traitor, congrats, why don't you stop destroying our culture with your muggle beliefs?" Fawley scoffed.

"I assure you that I have no reason to love muggles, and that Ms. Moon was only pointing out their threat." Tom defended. Honestly, who would call him, the descendant of Salazar Slytherin, a muggle-lover? Fawley was reminded of it with his nearly hissing manner, the blood rising into his cheeks, as he understood how serious his accusation was.

Parseltongue seemed to have rather different levels of acceptance around the school. Because of Slughorn's and Dippet's defence of them in the Great Hall, most students weren't open to showing their dislike, and actually, the only ones seemingly really disgusted by their abilities were those of extreme-light families – who Tom couldn't care less about, with all their fascinations for muggles. The remaining of the school could only think that while Herpo the Foul had been truly evil, Paracelsus was a great wizard, and Salazar Slytherin…well, he had founded the school so they couldn't really talk ill about him. Aside those three, there was no one else who had been a Parselmouth for sure.

And because of that, most students had accepted their ability, like those who accept a metamorphmagus, or natural born Mermish speakers, or natural born occlumens.

"Awn, you are so cute when you try to talk about things you don't understand." Georgiana said at to Fawley. "I can see you have set aside this special time to humiliate yourself in public but why don't you go to people who will find it funny instead of deplorable?"

Tom snorted at that, together with all those who were discretely listening to them. Talk about sharp tongue. The Hufflepuff's face reddened again, but this times probably more in anger than in embarrassment, Tom and Moon watched the boy leave with a snort.

Georgiana Moon was a dark-skinned slender girl whose voluminous curls of hair framed her face, pinned to her head. With her sonorous laughter, she faced the first year in front of her. "Thanks for the help, Merlin, he is so annoying. It's refreshing to see a pureblood heir who doesn't fear defending muggles and despising them at the same time. Actually, is refreshing to see someone like you, Riddle."

"Ms. Moon, I assure you that you are the refreshing one out of us – the daughter of a politician speaking out her mind, and standing up to her thoughts? That is…revolutionary."

She snorted. "Call me Georgiana, Riddle; Miss Moon sounds too lyrical to my tastes." She took a sip of her daisy-root draught and Tom reflected the action with his quintin black. "Don't think you have managed to dazzle me yet, Riddle, but if you prove good enough, maybe I will allow you some opportunities to do it."

"As you wish, Georgiana." He said, rising his glass as a salutation as she walked in the direction of her housemates.

Meanwhile, in the other side of the chamber, Anya surrounded by the group of scholar. Mr. Switch, a transfiguration master; Mr. Pollingtonious, a healer who had authored The Healer's Helpmate; Mr. Waffling, a magical theoretician; Mr. Marwood, a linguist and writer; Mrs. Stitch, a charms mistress; and the lost in the group Madam LaFolle, to whom all the others were kind enough to not expel from the group of scholar, even if she was only the author of the best-selling fictional series of romances, Enchanted Encounters.

In the middle of them - shorter than even her twelve-year old person - was Ragnok the Pigeon Toad, a goblin activist and author.

One could wonder what a first-year was doing in the middle of this group and one's answer would be discussing with Mr. Waffling, Mr. Marwood and Ragnok the pros and cons of their languages of choice – Latin, Mermish, Gobbledegook respectively, Anya's being Parseltongue.

"I see your point, Ms. Donbyre, but of course you must know that your language is impossible to be taught, or learnt. Latin otherwise is the source of every spell used in England nowadays." Mr. Waffling had reasoned.

"Please call me Nastya, I'm far too young. I can see your point very well, Mr. Waffling, I myself take Ancient Studies and I must say they come in handy. However, most Latin-spells' purposes can be deduced without further knowledge, simply by the colour of them or by the similarities of the language with English. There are several theories about which creatures speak Parseltongue aside common snakes – sea serpents, selmas, occamys, cockatrices, basilisks, runespoors, ashwinders, and even the legendary jabberwocky or dragons. I have never come to meet any of those creatures, of course, but ask any magizoologist, every dragonologist and each cryptologist in the world if they wouldn't like to take these studies further and you will see my point." She had stated with an excited smile.

"You are right, my girl, and I must encourage you to accompany one magizoologist in their travels and discover the boundaries of your powers." Mr. Marwood had said amiability. "I guess I will be forced to stay with merpeople however, and engage further in my capacities. If you feel like learning more about them, I will be glad to help. And I will be honoured if you share some of your discoveries with me." He winked at her, his grey goatee contrasting with his tanned skin and defined muscles – something strange to find in an over-middle-aged man like him.

"Of course, sires. I would be very pleased to learn all your languages, there isn't, after all, a space in mind that cannot be occupied."

"As soon as you need, Nastya. My race has big dreams, and I know we can make use of them to our mutual advantage." Ragnok declared. "I'm very sure that the day you find a cockatrice, it will be very profitable; meanwhile, I would like to add that the jabberwocky isn't the only legendary creature in our list." He had provoked good-naturedly, to the amusement of all. Anya was almost sure that goblins were different than him, but perhaps for being an activist, the man – because he was a man, even if he wasn't human – had adapted to the environment.

"An experiment then, in order to freak out more ignorant minds." Mr. Waffling had proposed. "One phrase from each other, one language from each other – and we will recreate the most perfect Babel Tower."

Probably because Mr. Marwood was a pureblood and Ragnok a goblin, none of the two had understood the reference. But Anya had laughed, because it was so weird to think of those scholars joking around. And they did it, talked their own languages and watched as the others stared at them. It was a rather perfect Tower of Babel, except for not being abandoned.

Someone touched her shoulder, and the younger witch understood the subtle touch as a signal to walk out of their circle. The girl turned on her heels to face his indigo eyes of Tom, wearing the linen and goldwork embroidery robes he had received from his supposed father – which he had actually won from her, bought with stolen money, and delivered by a random owl of the owl post in the breakfast of his birthday. "Dance with me." He demanded.

"Well, sires. It seems my fellow Parselmouth wants to recreate the dance of serpents" She said, cheeky, bidding them farewell as Tom already dragged her to the dance floor and waited for the beginning of a foxtrot.

Neither of them had ever had a dance instructor (not that anyone could expect orphans to have one) but as most people who were left to wander in London at the 1930s, they had the ingrained knowledge of how to dance foxtrot, jazz and even some ragtime and waltz. Certainly, they had never danced wizarding compositions – but despite all, wizards seemed to be greatly influenced by muggle music.

They danced in silence, beautifully, one, two, three songs – Tom's grip of her hand never loosening to her.

"Well, this is our fourth dance. It wasn't just one?" She inquired between breaths as she did the so-called Charleston. "Merlin, this dance is out of fashion for ten years! Why am I dancing it?"

"Because all pure-bloods are." Tom whispered to her, and in fact they were. It was quite interesting to watch a bunch of stuck-up bigoted purebloods swinging their arms and kicking up their heels. It was fun. "If you feel so disgusted dancing with me, then stop at the next song." And stop they did, mainly because they had no energies left to dance more and because they had no idea how to dance a mazurka.

Anya walked to Dorea, who had also left the dance-floor with Abraxas, Tom following her closely behind. "You two are good dancers. And what was that with the special guests?" The Black girl asked, taking a glass a house elf had offered her.

"We were exchanging promises of teaching one another a new language; I think I will start with Mermish. Next year I will be found around the Great Lake talking with merpeople, do you think they will lock me into St. Mungo's Janus Thickey Ward?"

"Probably." The other witch agreed. "But then Kneeler might try to murder again."

"That will be unfortunate. Are you going to drink this?" Anya questioned, breathless.

"You can have it, if you want." Dorea gave her the stemware. "It's gillywater."

"It will serve." Anya assured her, swallowing the contents of the entire glass in one gulp and making a face. "As foul-tasting as always – or worse."

"If you don't like it, why did you drink?" Dorea inquired.

"I was thirsty." She explained, shrugging.

[][][][][]

Anya watched as a sixth year ripped his heart of his chest and felt into his knees, trying to reach for the young, beautiful, beating heart at the floor. She exchanged a smile with Tom over the scene, doubting very much that all those purebloods in the Great Hall knew they were listening to a muggle piece, Danse Macabre.

Her bow stroke the cello in the final minute of the composition, at the same time the warlock played by the sixth year Ravenclaw, Andrew Grainger, grabbed the maiden's heart. The members of her string quarter seemed to be only ones to not be paying much attention to the dramatic scene. Wayne Mason-Buckley, a muggleborn third year Gryffindor, the viola player, was deeply focused at the sounds of his viola. Anne Harris, the other violinist, was determined to look anywhere else.

The warlock died across the maiden's dead body with one heart at each hand and they ceased their song, watching as the upperclassmen uncovered the eyes of the younger kids and started to clap, because – despite the fact it was a gruesome play, it had been acted beautifully, and Anya liked to think they had played well. The dead maiden seemed to walk back life with a satisfied grin, and Mirena Hewitt, her player, thanked the applauses with a deep bow.

She stepped the balcony and traded smiles and waves with her classmates. It had been the best year of her life probably, even with the assassination attempts and everything else. Magical - almost. She and Tom had the best grades of their year, followed by half of the Ravenclaw house – as expected. They were respected, a feeling she hadn't known before Hogwarts. Parseltongue aside, fights aside, feuds aside - they have found a home.

"If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with."

Anya smiled. Maybe she could find happiness there after all.


	11. Eleventh Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: lil’hawkeye3, thanks for the work
> 
> One note about the money rate. Back in the 1939, a pound value would be something around the 40-50 pounds nowadays. I did this exchange, so when I say 12,000 pounds, I mean 540,000 pounds. A bracelet of diamonds in the 30’s would cost 2,000 pounds, so if you were to consider they sold in Black Market, in which cheaper prices are a must, the money they acquired makes sense. A galleon is something that nowadays would cost around 5 pounds. I did not change the value of a galleon, even though I know that happening would be impossible, because I don’t want to go around changing the price of everything – I’m lazy. Because of that, a 30’s pound in this story costs around 9 galleons. Remebering that this is story takes place before the decimal system. So:
> 
> 1 pound – 20 shillings – 240 pennies
> 
> 1 galleon – 17 sickle – 493 knut
> 
> 1 pound – 9 galleon
> 
> 1 shilling – 7 sickles and 19 knuts
> 
> 1 penny – 18 knuts
> 
> Enjoy!

 

Anya looked at the beautiful marble manor at Mayfair; it was the house of an ambassador – rich, certainly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Anya. He is a crow; he's attracted to shiny things. At the eastern wing, in a small parlour with a wide widow with the view of garden of roses."

"We both know that your birdie didn't see it. You just took it of his mind." Anya pointed out, looking at the dark avian perched on Tom's shoulder before vanishing in the air.

Tom smirked as minutes later his partner appeared before him with a grin, several necklaces hanging from her neck, rings threaded throughout the strap of her bag, tiaras in her head and bracelets covering her arms. "How much was Hugh giving for one diamond?"

[][][][][]

Hour later, the two orphans strode into Diagon Alley with four large suitcases of money and wide grins on their faces, ready to exchange their twelve thousand pounds into galleons. Settling their expressions in a more polite manner, they both walked into the Gringotts.

Even though both of them knew that it would be rude to interrupt a goblin working, Anya still had to keep a close eye on Tom as he didn't appreciate being ignored – which was exactly what the goblin in front of them was doing, while writing something in a very long parchment.

"May your business go well." Tom said as salutation when the goblin looked up. Anya smiled and imitated the action.

"And may gold always flown into your vaults." The goblin responded. "My name is Bolank, may I help you?"

"Good morning. We wish to open a vault and exchange this money into Galleons before depositing it." Tom said, dropping his suitcases in the desk. "I believe the exchange rate is 10 Galleons to 1 Pound?"

"Nine galleons to one pound." The goblin correct, his eyes shining at the sight of so much money. "Which means your vault will start with a hundred and six thousand galleons. The cost to create a vault is two thousand galleons, a key included. Under whose name will it be?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle and Anastasia Lynda Donbyre." Anya answered.

"Very well. I will need a drop of your bloods to key you to your vault, and your wands." The goblin offered a needle and bowl to them and accepted their wands. "Holly, phoenix feather, 11 inches, nice and supple. Yew, phoenix feather, 13 and half inches, unyielding. These wands are brothers in the core."

"Yes." Tom agreed. "Anything else?"

"Your key." Bolank said, handing them a rather large, old-looking key. As soon as he handed the key, the suitcases disappeared. "The number of your vault is 784. Do you wish to visit it? Do you wish to drawn some money from it?"

"Maybe later a visit. Three thousand Galleons if you will." A bag of money appeared in front of the desk and the goblin handed it to them. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Riddle, Ms. Donbyre."

Minutes later, the two children could be found in front of the Wizarding Bank, staring at it in suspicion. "That was-"

"Extremely efficient." Tom completed.

"I was going to say too fast. No explanation, no paperwork." Anya stared at him. "Do you think they are keeping yourselves ignorant on purpose."

"Probably. But they must be happy to welcome so much money." Tom analysed. "Anyway, it isn't as if there is no more money from where it came, is it?"

They continued to walk around the almost empty alley. Last year, things hadn't been like that – that empty. Yes, during the first semester of the year, when they occasionally went to the alley to gather information on the Wizarding World; it hadn't been like the last days of summer vacations, when the alley would turn a turmoil of bodies in shopping spur, however, it hadn't been that desolate.

The war was coming, everyone could tell you that. There had been attacks-- magical villages stripped of its Muggle-born population, Muggles with deaths unexplainable to their people. If the Muggle Chancellor and Führer was bad enough, the unnamed wizard behind him was even worse. And neither of them were the best example to Tom, who had the hobby of analysing their political situations with a cold precision.

They walked into Twillfitt and Tattings, taking their time to buy several robes of velvet, silk, wool and linen. At Scribbulus Writing Implements, they bought several pieces of parchment, inks – the colour-changing ink was her favourite, but she had to admire the usefulness of the invisible ink – and quills of pheasant feather.

As they sat in Brews and Stews, a small seafood restaurant in Diagon Alley, Anya watched the others clients around. It interesting how weird wizards looked when you have just left the Muggle world, with all their peculiar habits.

"I want to go to Knockturn Alley after this." Tom had declared while savouring his octopus lagareiro. Anya shrugged, digging her hands into his pocket and taking a cigarette and lightening it. "That is unfitting –"

"Likewise, Arawn, I would like to buy a cello." Anya answered, tasting her prawn curry with a moan of happiness. "Miss, can you tell me where can I buy an instrument around here?" She asked to the young-looking waitress.

"Oh, dear, you will find a music shop in the Carkitt Market; it's the only one we have, but it's very good. Tell Jaime Concordia that Clutterbuck Crispe brought you there and maybe he will speak with me again."

Anya had to dig her heels on Tom's feet to stop him from sniggering at the curly-haired witch's name. "Thanks, Ms. Crispe, I will." She said with a smile. Sometimes she wondered which one of them was the sociopath.

After lunch, Tom dragged them to the Knockturn Alley, entering in several shops like Cobb & Webb's and Ye Olde Curiosity who had refused to sell anything to them, even in those hard times. Frankly, the witch thought that the wizarding world should reevaluate the image they had of the morality of the shopkeepers around that alley, as they were very similar to the law-abiding folk.

A shop whose windows showed a display of furniture made of bones appeared very tempting, but of course, they didn't have a house for the objects. Tom entered a shop named Noggin and Bounce whose merchandise was somewhat peculiar – heads whose skull and fat had been removed. "What is this?" Anya had asked the owner, a beautiful woman with dark skin and prominent cheekbones.

"Shrunken heads! You won't get it anywhere else!" The woman answered excitedly. "Some of them are funny, some of them have a nasty temper, and some like swearing. But don't worry, they are all stunned. I don't like hearing their fights."

"May I ask what their real usefulness is?" Tom asked, holding a rather big and nasty-smelling head.

"Oh, that was a giant!" The woman told them, making a thoughtful face. "But they don't sell very well, they bite more than bark, you know. Answering your question, they can be used as guardian, mascots – or for rituals!" She finished with a shout, laughing maniacally at their frozen expressions.

"And how are they done?" Tom inquired as his companion dreaded the answer.

"I do them myself. It's very difficult as simmering the head too long would cause it to lose its hair, but not long enough would leave it gooey. And you don't want a sticky head, do you? Yet, if you have a specific head, I can do it custom."

"I just need to bring you the head?" The young wizard inquired.

"I can take it on my own if you feel it's too weird to carry a head around. You just need to give me the name of the head's owner." Anya and Tom shared a look. That was getting creepier and creepier as it continued. But of course, Tom being Tom, he completely ignored Anya's whispers of 'Don't think of this!'.

"Alright, Miss…"

"Miss Anise Anboar."

"Miss Anboar, I don't have anyone in mind right now, but I think this might change in the oncoming years. Can I just owl you if have an order? I'm Marvolo and this Lynda." Tom said, deciding that it wasn't that wise use their full names in this business.

"Of course. I usually take a month to create them, but that depends on the head's protection; My little Herakles will find you anywhere and deliver when it's done. "

As soon as they left that store, Tom was entering in a shop selling poisonous candles, affirming that it would be pleasing if they actually managed to make one of those float above someone's head in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Anya wanted to yell.

Instead, she took her time watching the window of Markus Scarrs Indelible Tattoos. Inside of it, a man had a young dragon in his chest, which flied around his skin and she was pretty sure it would get older with time. An elderly woman whose crimson red braid reached the floor had a strong oak tree covering almost her whole left-side, her silky see-through robes doing nothing to hide the beautiful tattoo. And a young man dressed in dragon-hide swung his arm up and down, making the kitten on his skin play with a yarn ball.

"Interesting. Shall we get going?" Tom asked, a dark bag on his hand that really didn't pry her curiosity. There were some things about him that she did fine not knowing about.

[][][][][]

Abraxas Malfoy was bored. It was his birthday, 15th August, and Wiltshire was expectedly beautiful. Most of his friends were there, all his family's friends were there – from the ministry officers who his father suborned to the lords of noble houses who had enough money to suborn their own officers, old money, new money. He wore fine robes made of the most pure acromantula silk, and his father had actually allowed some matches of gob stones among them, as long as they did it inside the manor, in a private parlour in where nobody else would see them downgrading themselves. Yet it was still tiresome.

He blamed Hogwarts. Before attending the school, he had never found those parties monotonous, yet now he had no idea why once he had waited excitedly for them. In Hogwarts, he wasn't just a simpleton child in the way of the adults, he was doing politics. In their microcosm, things happened to them – deals, social-talk, debates, and new ideas. At first, he had thought of Hogwarts as just a smaller copy of the ministry, in which they could all play being grown-ups, but he wasn't so sure anymore. There was something lacking in the adults, something even his father couldn't fill.

"It's a pity Tom and Nastya couldn't attend, isn't it?" Dorea asked, toasting their glasses as she walked to him. "I was hoping to see her. His father is awful-- obsessed, I would say. Do you think they might come next year?"

"I wouldn't know, Dora."

"What were you thinking about?"

"This." He said after some hesitation. "It seems so mindless. Play gob stones and leave the adults to their own affairs. At least, betting is profitable, but father prohibited it." He snarled, reaching for her hand as the soft music played behind the noise of the teenagers. Dorea followed his guidance blindly dancing with a deep, thoughtful frown.

"Thank Merlin, betting wasn't allowed. Orion has lost sixty galleons already these holidays with bets." She said in an attempt to disguise her lack of attention to their conversation. "A Knut for your thoughts?" He offered.

"I won't be able to organize them in a manner worthy of even a Knut." She declared, waving him off. "I was thinking about my family."

"Cassiopeia? Because if that's the case, I would like to say that you can marry me if you don't find anyone else." He offered, spinning her gently while she grimaced.

"That's disgusting. I was talking about my brother."

"Pollux Black? Ah…Marius." The girl nodded, while Abraxas cleared his throat, uncomfortable. Marius Black, a squib, had been disowned from the family at eleven, when his Hogwarts letter didn't arrive, fifteen years ago. It was the type of talk nobody had in the pureblood supremacy, and wars had been declared for less. "He had a daughter two weeks before – I'm an auntie again. Of course, I don't know the name, neither of her nor of her Muggle mother. I don't even know my brother. But my niece is a metamorphmagus."

"How did you know that?"

"I overheard father talking with Lord Arcturus. Brother met with father in the Leaky Cauldron." Dorea sighed. "My niece will go to Hogwarts and I probably won't even know who she is if she appears in front of me. I don't know the last name my brother chose when he was cast out."

Abraxas was silent, knowing that Dorea wasn't really interested in his opinion, just in opening up. The Malfoy stopped dancing, guiding his friend to a more private place where she would be able to talk. He stopped in the farthest from the guests corner he found, winking to a smirking Ragnar Lestrange who had just won another game of chess.

"Sometimes, don't you feel we are wrong? About magical blood?" She whispered. "Father would ally with Germany if they approached him, and I know yours would as well. And a metamorphmagus, that is…well, rare. My family had lots of metamorphmagus nine centuries ago, but the last one born in the Blacks was born four hundred years before. And look at Tom, his grandmother married a half-blood. He is a parseltongue."

"Nastya is as well, and her descendants were proper purebloods. Did you inform your parents about their abilities, by the way?"

"I told Pollux, he is the head of house, after all. I suppose you did it too." The wizard nodded. "I think everyone did. Two parseltongue – whose ancestor is most likely Salazar Slytherin. Has history ever heard of that? I'm sure this would make to the front of the Prophet if it wasn't so busy publishing about the German Ministry. " She reflected. "And you ignored my last question, Ax."

"I don't think we are wrong, Dorea. Do you remember Kneeler? Compare her to Nastya. The truth is that purebloods are direct descendants from druids, while mudbloods came from the humans who venerated them. Who do you think is better?"

[][][][][]

Sometimes, Anya wondered if everything she had seen the year before was real. If her dreams could really tell the future, if their powers were nothing more than their insanity. Sometimes, she imagined her life was only that – washing dishes and clothes in in an orphanage, never having a place to call hers. She felt weak.

And then, Tom appeared.

Tom was different. He knew he strong, he trusted he was unique. He had to be unique because there was no other alternative to his pride. He didn't always had the best arguments, but he always had confidence. Anya attracted people with smiles, but Tom attracted them with his posture. And while her smiles could sometimes wither, his self-esteem was unshakeable. He was an overbearing proud petty prick yet he was steadfast.

And cute.

Maybe because of that she put up with him.

The summer at Wool's Orphanage had been, as expected, dull. Mindless days of chores and avoiding the other children, and making Tom avoid anyone else. She was boiling some eggs to the breakfast when Johnny Foster, a fourteen years gangly boy who had arrived in Wool's Orphanage when they were away, grabbed her hair. "Oy, weirdo, have ya turned useful in that nuthouse of ya? Used?"

Anya pushed him away lightly, just enough to release herself. No use making a fuss around there. Maybe the boy would learn with that. Or maybe not. "Yeah, I heard of the guys that ya and Riddle go to a loony bin for crazy fuckers. Man, are you a fucking cunt now?"

"Well, if you want to fuck men I suggest you to go to another place. Or woman." She said sharply.

"Tight ass then? Oh, that's bitchy of you." Anya ignored his words completely, it wasn't worth it. "Oy, pay attention to me, ya bitch!" He said, grabbing her arm this time. Anya shoved him off wandlessly, without a batter of lashes.

"Don't you dare to touch me! Ask the guys what will happen." She said with a feral smile to his frozen in panic expression.

Sometimes, it was good to have powers, she concluded when the boy scrambled to his feet and fled away. Turning back to her eggs, she hummed softly, taking them out of the water before they turned hard-boiled. Anya then took the stale bread they had baked the day before and shoved it into the wood-burning stove.

"Cece," she called the younger girl who had been making tea at the opposite side of the kitchen and had successfully ignored her whole conversation with Foster. Most of them did, nobody wanted to get in the way of bullies. "Take the bread before it burns, ok? I'll take these to the table." The witch ordered and wiped her hands in her apron.

Grabbing the tray with eggs and the teapot, Anya walked into the dining room – which was nothing more than a wide room whose paint was peeling and in which someone had made a long plank a table with benches, nothing similar to Hogwarts. There were very few similarities between her school and her orphanage, and the only one she could actually point out was the excess of children per adult in their populations.

Walking back to the kitchen, she noticed Tom. He was leaned over the wall, Crime and Punishment in hands. But he wasn't looking to the artwork of Dostoevsky but to the widow, to the view of Johnny Foster in the backyard. She also saw his smirk when his eyes stopped at the subdued form of Dennis Bishop.

A month after that, Johnny Foster would be found in the East End, pissed and bruised, too frightened to be able to utter a word. He was an orphan and because of that nobody investigated – he had only been attacked by robbers, the kind of evil people that lurked in darkness.

Anya never talked with Tom about it. There was no reason for her to care.

[][][][][]

London, summer of 1939. At the beginning of July, the first North Atlantic air passenger service had been inaugurated in Southampton by Pan Am. The Barber Institute of Fine Arts had been opened by Queen Mary at the University of Birmingham. The IRA had exploded a bomb in Conventry – and the Muggles would never know how many wizards had been involved in that process.

The Emergency Powers (Defence) Act 1939 had been passed – the war had already started to Army reservists and Civil Defence workers. That had happened a week before. Now, paintings had been moved from the National Gallery in London to Wales. The Royal Navy was already at the war stations.

London didn't look festive. As she left the tube on 1st of September, Anya watched as hundreds of children and their parents seemed to gather around the railway station. The Operation Pied Piper had begun, and children from all major cities of England were being evacuated and you wouldn't find a train in the country that wasn't guiding children to safe houses with the exception of the one leaving Platform 9 ¾ in King's Station – although she supposed Hogwarts could be considered the safest house of all.

Parents were crying and giving their goodbyes – maybe their last words to their children? – in a very emotional moment. Anya heard Tom snicker beside her – he wasn't exactly emphatic, she feared. Anya rolled her eyes, making her way through the crowd and after reassuring several adults that they would board their train, they passed through the wall that divided the Muggle World from the Magical.

_~Although, somewhere around there a quartet of two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eva, brothers and sisters, would experience another kind of magical experience. But she would only know about that in 1950. ~_

Of course, the wizarding side of the station wasn't that better when compared to the non-magical. Less tears, as most were only sending their children to school, and not to refugees. But packed nonetheless.

They boarded the train immediately, walking to the Slytherin wagons in which they knew their housemates would already be, as it was unbecoming of pureblood heirs to show such degrees of affection in public.

"I will be at the toilet." She had informed Tom before sliding the door of said compartment.

She didn't look like an orphan. Sometimes, it was too easy to forget about it – Anya had never felt much her lack of parents, just the lack of money, she had books to explain things to her, she had Tom, in all his aloofness, she had never know the feeling of having parents to miss it – and when she looked at herself in the looking glass of the Hogwarts's Express, she couldn't point out her poverty anywhere.

Because of the sparse diet in Wool's Orphanage, fat had always been lacking in her cheeks, but the rich-looking robes she wore made others believe that she was only thin. The wizarding fashion, despite other's beliefs, changed a lot and because of that, she wore those silky button up robes with high neck and tight sleeves, teal-coloured. Anya smiled, oh, money, sweet money.

She entered in their wagon, in which most of them had already settled down, Dorea with her tawny owl, Vega, and Abraxas with his albino ferret – a fact which, for some reason, always amused Anya – Nous, and Brianna's Puffskein, Tosca – a name which made her laugh. "You realize, of course, that Puffskeins die in some months, don't you?" Anya had asked. "And why Puccini?"

Brianna had looked at her curiously and the emerald-eyed witch swore internally. Of course she wouldn't know who a muggle was. "Who is Puccini? Are you talking about the name? I was walking around London and I saw the name, I found cute. And yes, I know they die early. But they are cute."

Anya conceded that point, sitting between both girls, in front of Tom. "Why don't you have a pet?" Dorea inquired.

"Toads and cats are quite useless. And we don't find the need to communicate with outsiders often enough to get an owl, although this may change." Tom explained. "Obviously, we should have thrown the supply's list in the trash bin." He deadpanned.

"He wanted an ashwinder. As they only live in fire, I found this quite impossible. Maybe a crup? We could name him Turandot."

"I doubt that the name of a blood-thirsty, cold-hearted princess would fit a canine. Besides, what would I do with a dog?"

"They are loyal. Would you prefer a nundu? It's a big cat."

They all shared glances. "Yes."

Anya waved them off with her manicured nails – a feat that she was quite proud of archiving in an orphanage full of daily chores to be done in which she was forbidding of using magic. "Now, if you excuse me, I will be continuing my studies."

"You said you were studying Mermish. You won't start screeching anytime soon, will you?" Orion questioned with an alarmed look on his face, making the others laugh. "Have any of you heard Mermish? It's heinous."

"Don't worry. Water bubble charms over my mouth will be handy in Hogwarts." Anya smiled, taking her exemplar of Mermish: A Comprehensive Guide to their Language and Customs, gifted to her by the author himself, out of her purse. With a giggle, she rested her head on Brianna's shoulder at the same moment Dorea linked her arms with Anya's, the three of them a bundle of bodies. Dorea giggled at the distance among the boys and nestled her feet on her brunette roommate's lap, cuddling on her warmth.

"You are just too comfy to keep around, Nastya, did you now?" Dorea had mumbled.

"In fact, I did."

"Actually, I prefer when you are not talking."

"Me as well, dear Dora. I think we'd all appreciate your mouth closed more." Anya mocked before continuing her reading.

[][][][][][]

The Great Hall was in a turmoil – an uproar of voices, members of staff with worried frowns and students trying to peek over others' copies of Evening Prophet. Dumbledore walked into the hall, leaving the newcomers at the waiting chamber and walking to the headmaster, whispering to him in hushed tones.

"Silence!" Dippet shouted, bringing their eyes to him. "Welcome back, students and teachers, may the year be enlightening as always. We will start the sorting now and later, I would like to make a few announcements."

The large doors of the chamber were opened, welcoming the children who would be their freshmen. "Abbot, Nathaniel!"

A bubbly boy with dark hair walked to the stool and with that, the sorting started. Anya noticed that there were more children in that year than it last year. Maybe this time, it wouldn't be three girls to seven boys in Slytherin.

Anya glanced back the newspaper Tom had in hands, the picture of a frigate flagship destroyed. Alphard Black, Walburga's brother and Orion's future brother-in-law, was the first Slytherin to join them. He looked had the same hooded eyes of his sister, but his nose was crooked and his hair was black instead of dark-blonde.

"Auntie Dora, good to join you." He beamed, ignoring completely the seat at the end of the table to the newcomers and sitting at his cousin side.

"Where else did you expect to be? You are a Black." Brianna said with a sneer she seemed to direct to all firsties. Apparently, the blonde thought that being a year younger was good enough reason to be looked down.

"I'm a rule-breaker. I was expecting to break this rule, but the Sorting Hat said no. Who are you?"

"She is Brianna, Alfie." Dorea quivered. "These are Tom and Nastya, the rest you know. Call him Alfie."

"Very well, Alfie. I advise you that the next time you try to force the Sorting Hat to land you anywhere but Slytherin, you must not be so ambitious in your aims, or else you will land here." Tom said, watching as Elaine Bones also walked into their direction, sitting in the correct place. "A Bones in Slytherin. I'm not sure this has happened in history. Abraxas?"

"I doubt it, Tom. I would ask you, Ragnar, but I have recently discovered your deplorable knowledge on family trees." The Malfoy scion taunted, receiving a snicker of his best friend.

"At least I'm good in DADA." He defended himself. "I have heard that ninety percent of those who are dreadful in this particular subject fail in the Dark Arts."

"Well, the Malfoys are unique. I assure you that I belong to the ten percent who are glorious in mastering the Arts. Don't you agree, Brianna?"

"You know there is no fairness in this at all, Ax, Brianna is bound by blood and by hormones to agree with you." Dorea told him, making the pink-blonde witch blush. "As someone who is disgusted by the thought of any romantic feelings for you, let me say the probability of you being successful it's high – just because you are to determinate and vain to accept failure."

"You hurt me, Lady Black. The thought of us in a more than platonic relationship will fry my brain." Abraxas joked while Dorea laughed – not bothered by what most would classify as an insult – the others shaking their heads in dismay.

Eventually, a Vittoria Zabini – whose pureblood parents had apparently fled from Italy by the 1920's, something to do with Muggles – was sorted into Slytherin, settling the ratio of five girls to six boys in the snake house that year, and ending the Sorting Ceremony.

"Welcome all to one more year in Hogwarts. Before we start our dinner, I would like to give some warnings. First of all, I must remind you that the Forbidden Forest is expressly prohibited to all students. Second, swimming in the Great Lake is prohibited without faculty or prefect supervision and boating in it is forbidden without faculty permission. The Restricted Section is forbidden to all those without singed note from a professor, and the books in it shall not be removed from the Library. Students must be in their uniforms to attend their classes. Magic should only be used by students in relation to schoolwork or approved extracurricular activities. Students shall attend all their classes." Armando Dippet said in a monotonous voice, using the same words he had used through all his term as headmaster – if last year's speech was anything to go by.

Anya shared a look with Tom. It was interesting to note how many rules they had broken through the year. Then she remembered that Abraxas had a ferret under his robes and thought that maybe nobody really cared if you broke the rules.

"As you all of you must be aware for now. The British Ministry of Magic has declared war on the German Reichstag der Magie today after the SS Durmstrang was attacked on the coast of the Scandinavian Peninsula." He stopped, allowing his word's to sink. "Today is a sad day for the Magical Community, a day in which many innocent lives were slaughtered for a supposedly Greater Good. Don't let its name to fool you-- there is no good in the actions we heard of this day."

"With plenty commiseration, our school has opened their arms to the students and teachers who didn't choose to attend Durmstrang Institute in these dark days." This declaration broke out several whispers around the hall, most of them excited. "Silence!" The headmaster ordered, like the judge in a tribunal. "This offer was meet with great gratitude and acceptance of our fellow school of magic. Ergo, in two days, we will be receiving the members of Durmstrang Institute, may all of us welcome them properly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *this is me bowiing deeply and asking for a good feedback*, farewell dears!


	12. Twelfth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: lil'hawkeye3

The morning after the start-of-the-term feast had been, at least, busy since the beginning of the breakfast, with the headlines of the Daily Prophet announcing the name of the mysterious wizard who was behind the occupation of the German and Slovak Ministries of Magic, Durmstrang Institute in Norway (although not its palace or ministry), and Magical and Muggle Poland.

The wizard called himself a Dark Lord. His name was Gellert Grindelwald; his army were the Heilig Paladine. Anya remembered that 'heilig' meant 'holy' or 'hallowed'. 'The Palladins' were most trusted warriors of Charlemagne. It was kind of presumptuous. It was almost as if he was doing something in favour of world's well-being.

Two days had passed since they had arrived, and that Sunday the school was turmoil. Not because the British and French Muggle Ministries had declared war on Germany – which they had, around a quarter past eleven by the morning – but because the Durmstrang's guests – refugees, perhaps? – would arrive in the evening.

At the moment, Anya still wore high-necked button up robes, this time made of pale red silk with embroidered lilies, as she waited in the front gardens for the arrival of their guests. When she saw the small boat floating in the Great Lake, Anya couldn't help to wonder if, in all the excitement, the whole school was to see the arrival of three or four students in a tiny boat. Which, she supposed, was a pretty ridiculous thought.

When the two enormous vessels emerged from water, looking like a pair of Spanish galleons with elaborated quarterdecks and imposing forecastles, she was glad that she hadn't shared her thoughts with her peers. Behind her, the students clapped loudly for the visitors. A man with droopy cognac eyes and gangly features, dark hair and a long beard, stepped down the first and larger ship to embrace the headmaster in a manly, ferocious, hug that spoke of a close bond between them.

Or at least, they wanted the students to see it as such. Anya was a bit surprised by the strength of their ancient headmaster – yes, ancient. But now that she thought about it, what were the possibilities that someone weak and unhealthy could survive for three centuries?

The age of their headmaster was certainly disturbing. She was pretty sure he was one of the ten oldest people in the world – and two of them took the Elixir of Life. Tom had been pleased by the knowledge that wizard's lifespan was much longer than muggles, although she knew he didn't like much the idea of aging and getting wrinkles. He would always be a vain man.

The headmaster of Durmstrang was a Danish wizard named Harald Troldmand; Abraxas had informed them that they were cousins thrice removed by his paternal side. They didn't look remotely alike.

At his side, there was a tall dark-haired man with hooked nose, a young heavy-pregnant woman at his side. Aside from the grey haired lady who was talking to her, and the blonde girl who was guiding the children out of the ships, all the remaining adults were male. Intensely patriarchy, then.

The student body of Durmstrang was smaller than Hogwarts, which was surprising, considering they covered a larger area, but she had heard many preferred to be home-schooled... and that Muggle-borns weren't welcomed at the school. There was somewhere around two-hundred students, she calculated. Nevertheless, when they entered in the Great Hall, she noticed that the tables had been extended to welcome their guests.

A quarter of those sat at the Slytherin table, looking more comfortable than those in the others tables; although a bit wary – that she supposed, was due the attack on their journey to the school. Which was now, probably, being used as Grindelwald's headquarters, or the learning centre of his army's children.

A girl with light-brown hair smiled to them, bravely, before offering her hand to shake. "My name is Stefánia Mordon, from Hungary." She said, in a light-accented manner that spoke of volumes of her education.

Anya grasped the girl's hand firmly, although not in a hurtful manner. "Anastasia Donbyre, from England." She winked at her. "Do all of you speak English so fluently, Ms. Mordon?"

"We usually have classes in German, so all of us are brought up knowing it. But we are also encouraged to learn English or French. There are also those who learn Russian, but they end up attending Koldovstoretz. And please, all my friends call me Fanni, Ms Donbyre."

"Very well, all my friends call me Nastya, Fanni." The girl nodded, turning to ask the others' names. Meanwhile, Anya noticed as a boy of darker hair sat at Mordon's side, beaming at the English girl. "Kyrylo Grinevskii, from Ukraine. Koldovstoretz, miy brat go there." He said in a heavier accent over his book.

"Do you speak Russian as well?" Tom asked with false-interest.

"Da, my mama is Rosiyi." He explained.

"Dolohov's grandfather is Russian, as well." Orion told them, pointing to the dark-haired pureblood at his left. "Hence, the surname."

"Is that so? Do you speak Russian, Mr Dolohov? I fear I never had the opportunity to learn." The Hungarian girl asked with interest, helping herself with a plate of stew. "You must taste this pörkölt, it's spicy but quite balanced."

"I happen to have a taste for well-seasoned plates, Fanni." Tom told the girl, accepting her offer with a smile, in a sideways talk.

Dolohov ignored Tom's response, which was a sign to Anya that the Mordons should be influential in Hungary, as most of time the quarter-Russian Slytherin sneered at strangers, not dignifying himself to answer questions. "I have learnt it in my childhood, Miss Mordon."

Stefánia nodded, satisfied with his answer. "And the rest of you?"

The conversation flowed well between, all of them avoiding topics about the attack on SS Durmstrang days before, or the war, or their stances in it. Dorea answered that all her family members were raised speaking French and Greek. Ragnar revealed that he was brought up in French and German. Malfoy confided them the Malfoys were Francophiles, but as his mother was a former Black, he also spoke Greek. Brianna shared her knowledge in Spanish with them and her lack of skill in French – to her mother's frustration. Flavius Rosier was a fine speaker of Italian, and Andros Avery of Swedish. Tom acknowledge his proficiency in Latin, and Anya had to thank God for that – he had learnt it from church, after all, in his eager attempts to mock it when he was younger.

"I have been learning Mermish." She admitted, making the others laugh. "And my parents are Austrians." She explained. During the summer holidays, she had regretted making her parents foreigners, as she had been obliged by Tom to study German, which wasn't exactly easy.

"Is that so?" A voice asked, approaching them from the Hufflepuff table. "I am from Salzburg. My name is Dominik, it's good to see a compatriot." A boy, thirteen or fourteen with brunet hair and jade eyes, smiled. "I was going to ask if you still had Dobostorte, but now you will have to answer my questions. It's weird to find you in Hogwarts, Miss…"

"Anastasia Donbyre, my parents are from Krems. I have been living with Arawn since I was I child, however. Enough to be sent to Hogwarts." She smiled sheepishly. "Sometimes I fear I have forgotten how to speak my native language."

"Donbyre? Ich erinnere mich nicht deinen Nachnamen." He questioned her family surname in German. "Sie sind Musiker. Komponisten, wirklich." She explained her parents' professions as musicians in an attempt to associate a part of the brain with a lie. Her German was almost perfect, she was sure, although any slip could be blamed on her distance from her country.

"Es tut mir leid! Herrlich Komponisten, die Donbyres. " Dominik praised her parents, finally believing in her lie. Anya gave him a benign smile, waving it off. "I look forward meeting with you, then, Fräulein Donbyre. Now, I should take the Dobostorte to Herr Smith, I'm trying to make him taste it. If you allow me?"

"It's all yours, Meier." Stefánia said, giving the dessert to her upperclassman. "Táltos's six fingers won't be enough to count how much I hate caramel." Anya watched as his left, sitting beside a blonde boy who she knew to be a fourth-year, in the badger's table.

"Who is he?" Tom asked, with tint of jealously that Anya and Ragnar were the only ones to detect, chuckling. "Dominik Meier, pureblood. I don't know much more about him, except for his dreadful taste for caramels." The Durmstrang witch answered, nonchalant.

"What are you eating, Nastya?" Orion inquired, probably immersed on his own world. Or just to continue a conversation. Or perhaps because Brianna was an avid sweet-eater.

"Sachertorte." She answered.

[][][][][][]

In the first period of the following morning, Anya could be found in an abandoned classroom on the fourth floor, hiding from anyone who noticed the lack of a Slytherin the History of Magic's second year class – which was probably nobody. She had yet to be discovered missing her classes since she had stopped attending them the year before.

Her cello sat comfortably between her thighs, the silencing charms she had learnt for that around the closed door. Below her widow, a bunch of Durmstrang students in their summer uniforms lazed off in the gardens, their class would begin at the next morning. At the Great Lake, the two Durmstrang ships had been anchored, and neither of them resembled a ship anymore, but two towers inside the lake, linked to the shore by suspension bridges. One tower was the student dormitories, the other, the teacher's. In the second, there was also a small library, the kitchens, and a ballroom. Those wouldn't be used, as the Hogwarts installations would serve them well.

Unused classrooms weren't lacking in Hogwarts. Neither greenhouses, nor a Quidditch pitch.

The pregnant teacher, Fanni had explained to her, was Professor Veronika Krum, their Flying instructor. Her husband was Lazar Krum, their defence teacher. For some reason, both school's flying instructors were females, yet Quidditch was still considered unfitting to woman. The elderly woman she had seen the day before, was their only core subject female teacher, Madame Hilja Laukkanen – who competed with Dippet for the title of the oldest person alive, having just completed her second century eighteen years before – and still teaching the art of Charms. The blonde girl was a graduate who had just been admitted as the healing apprentice, Adelina Abbing. Together, the three females had worked as respectively mother, grandmother and older sister to a bunch of terrified students after the attack on the train. And having been dealing with their nightmares through the whole travel to Hogwarts.

As she watched the three women sitting around a circle of students of every age, distributing cup of hot chocolate, coffee or tea, Anya had to wonder why the Wizarding World was so prejudiced.

But then, the Muggle World wasn't better.

The oncoming war would prove that.

[][][][][][]

Tom Riddle watched the spot between the two Slytherin purebloods in his year with frustration. Of course, Anya was missing their History class on her first opportunity. At his side, Ragnar gave a snort of amuse, obviously noticing the lack of one of their classmates as he didn't enjoy History a lot. Probably everyone in the class already knew that Anastasia Donbyre completely ignored that subject by now. She didn't make any effort to keep it a secret, and even if she did, she was quite popular with the Gryffindors.

Maybe because of that popularity, nobody denounced her to Binns. Or maybe because everyone knew that catching the attention of the man was a hassle. Tom decided that he could read about the Goblin Wars elsewhere and drawn out a book of his schoolbag.

There was no need to disguise the fact he was reading another subject in the class, many students were catching up their sleep, or reading, or drawing, or exchanging notes – or just dazing off. Sometimes he wondered how the Ravenclaw class of History was. Did the bookworms pay attention?

Of course, the title of his book was also disguised. No need to draw suspicious glances to an introduction on Dark Arts. The pages were as well, although a close inspection would reveal its secrets. Well, the only ones who could read over his shoulders were Ragnar and Abraxas, and none of the two were prejudiced on Dark Arts – but they wouldn't pay attention. Lestrange was too busy checking his image on a looking glass and watching the students; Malfoy was lost in the middle of his thoughts, probably about his father or how he would change the world.

The book had incantations of mild-nature, he decided. But the lack of power in the spells was compensated by the colourful and moving pictures of the worst of them. It was writing to impressionable minds. Regardless of its uselessness, Tom chose to remember its name. He could introduce it to Anya, maybe. She wasn't too keen in learning the arts – not for a moral stance, of course, but calling them dull and uncreative. The images would change her idea of it, he was sure.

Taking a French periodical out of his schoolbag, Tom pondered over the war. Adolf Hitler and Gellert Grindelwald. Neville Chamberlain and Hector Fawley. Winston Churchill and Leonard Spencer-Moon. Albert Lebrun and Benoit de Lapin. Vyacheslav Molotov and Demyan Zolnerowich. Joseph Stalin and Illarion Utkin. Franklin Roosevelt and Anouska Platter. Chiang Kai-shek and Chen Chang. They were all bonded to change the world.

Tom was particular curious over Hitler and Grindelwald – as most of the world was. The other's popularity – or lack of it – he could understand. Salazar, he could even see why people were attracted to socialism…equality to all when you were the less-beneficed class? Perfectly understandable. Even the Nazism attraction was obvious. The idea that you were better than others? That was the best propaganda you could use to win a group of people. What he couldn't understand was the obsession.

He had heard that Hitler was extremely charismatic from some. And that he was incredible loud and foolish from others. Apparently, you could adore the ground he walked in, or you could despise it entirely – but you were unable to remain indifferent. Interesting how some were attracted and some weren't. And Grindelwald, nobody had heard about him overseas before the attack on Dumstrang. However, the German students of the school were pretty familiar with the name when he had inquired about it.

His eyes met his handwriting on the header of a page in the plain black book he had acquired in the summer.

The Imperius Curse.

An Unforgiveable, the curse placed the victim completely over the caster's control. It was the most amusing of the three curses, because it wasn't really harmful in nature. Because of it, it was also the most disturbing. As its unforgiveable status could only be explained by the perversion of the caster. It could be defended, so it explained why some weren't attracted by Hitler. Yes, he had created a theory that Grindelwald was cursing the muggle's troops with it.

But then, he had dismissed it. Grindelwald would have to match the power of Merlin, Morgana, Modred and the Founders together to hold so many curses. And that was impossible. There was an amount of power a soul could bear without getting into spontaneous combustion and that surpassed it.

The Servus Potion.

The idea that a potion was used in the process was deeply appealing to Tom. Potions could be mixed in the water supply of a whole city, and anyone who drank it would be affected. The potion, despite the name, didn't make the drinker a servant, but it could make the victim take one specific action. Like accepting one's leadership, or simply fighting. Similar to Dream Manipulation, but more effective and less dangerous.

It was, also, more distant from reality. The thing required Basilisk's poison and Selma's scales. When Tom had read it first, he had stared at the book in disbelief. The last basilisk in the world was supposedly dead for at least a millennium. And anyone who went in a quest to meet a Selma, never had returned. The possibility that Grindelwald had brewed one potion was infinitesimal. That he had obtained enough ingredients to poison a whole town, a whole country, several countries was unbelievable.

The Foedus Velle Ritual

Complicated, but effective. The ritual bonded anyone's free-will to the performer's orders. Better than a slave, who could riot – it was believed that the first house-elves were wood-elves who had suffered this destiny. Tom doubted the veracity of this statement, simply because any other species of elves aside house-elves belonged to wizarding mythology, together with nargles and heliopaths. And in J. R. R. Tolkien's mind.

Ironically, the first step to the ritual was free-will. The victim had to agree previously to have its will bond or it would be meaningless. Tom knew that it wasn't the case. Not only because nobody would freely agree to become a slave, but also because enslaving a country required the performance of said ritual countless times. Germany would be glowing with magic if that was the case, and reports of an increase of the number of magical creatures in the area – which was the direction consequence of an increase of magic – would have roamed through the world.

So, back to square one.

Binns had just ceased his rambling, which probably meant that the class was over. Gathering his belongings, Tom faked a long yawn to Orion, who grinned back. "The most boring class of all schools of magic in the world." The Black scion agreed.

"Is that so? And here I was, thinking you liked history so much that you could pay attention while reading Quidditch through the Ages." The older Slytherin deadpanned.

"It's the actualized version! They just launched it. It includes the just released Comet 180, the Cleansweep Three – they even compared them with the Twigger 40 and the Tinderblast, which will be launched next year." Orion said, excited.

"Really? How exciting." Tom answered, not sharing the emotion at all. Noticing his lack of enthusiasm, Orion made a face. "Quidditch is fun!"

"I never said it wasn't."

"You only thought so." Ragnar pointed out, clapping him on the back. "Are you going to try for the team, Orion?"

"Maybe."

"Blishwick informed me they had a spot as a beater awaiting for me. What do you think, Black? Would you like to be my teammate?" Antonin jeered viciously, making said Black seethe in anger.

"Shut it, Dolohov. Orion is an excellent chaser, for your information." Dorea defended her cousin.

"I will love to see him handling a Quaffle at the try-outs then." He answered, leaving them behind. Orion grinned as he watched him leave. "Now, who is excited for a class with the old woman? I'm envious of Durmstrang. Their teacher looks cool."

"Madam Merrythought is a nice lady." Dorea admonished him.

"Her cookies are good, I suppose." Orion agreed.

"She is very fast, and I heard Madam Merrythought was an acclaimed dueller when she was young." Abraxas informed them.

"Oh, and when was that? Before or after the noblemen lost their heads in France?" Tom deadpanned, making all of them snicker while climbing the staircase to the Serpentine Corridor. At the end of it, Anya was awaiting for them, sat at the stone handrail.

"How was Binns?" She asked.

"Terrifyingly boring. If my sister didn't report to father, I'd be your companion forever." Orion whined.

"Arsènine Peltier was spotted together with Zenais de la Felino in Paris, with a slight bum at her stomach – and they aren't married!" Brianna informed her, shoving a copy of the Witch Weekly International into her hands, and gesturing to the picture of the couple. "Can you see it?"

"It could be a trick of light." She commented half-hearted, giving it back and taking Tom's arms on hers. At the same moment something crashed on both of them.

"Shit!" Tom swore as his schoolbag flew from his hands, sprawling its contents onto the ground. Anya watched as a white haired and skinned first year she remembered seeing at the Slytherin's dungeons bent down to gather his things, which had been dropped as well. She leaped forward and offered one of his books.

"Accio." Tom charmed his belongings back to his bag with ease behind her. "It's Pyrites, isn't it? You have Herbology now, don't you? If you are looking for the Greenhouses, there is an entrance through the Charms corridor."

"Thank you." The Slytherin said, accepting the small knife for cutting plants and walking away.

"Poor boy. He is really lost. Alphie said his first period was Transfiguration. Very out of the route." Dorea commented.

"Weird kid. It must be because of his family." Brianna spoke, receiving nods of agreement.

"How so?" Anya inquired as they entered into classroom.

"The Pyrites breed with veelas. Beautiful half-breeds, they are." Abraxas explained. "That's the reason behind their surname, as well."

"It means 'of fire' in Greek." Dorea explained, seeing their dumbfound looks.

[][][][][][]

At Saturday's morning, Callidora Black watched in distaste as her younger twin giggled softly over the letter she had just received through a school's owl. She understood Cedrella, of course; Lord Caesar Malfoy wasn't exactly a gentle man, although rather beautiful. Still, the marriage contract had been signed between the houses and wandering around flirting with boys wasn't proper. By her love-struck sighs, Callidora actually suspected that there was one specific boy – although she didn't know his identity.

Over the opposite side of the table, her petite soeur was taking small sips of chai and nodding shyly to the talkative baby sister of Demetrius, Clemency. Sometimes, she didn't know about which of her sisters she should worry more. Charis was very meek, and she feared that her sister wouldn't survive her seventh year – after her sisters left her. Her only other option was to Caspar marry her soon after he graduated at Hogwarts. She would be able to leave, if that happened. But that wouldn't be that good, because Callidora didn't feel as if she could trust Crouch with her baby sister.

Throwing her twin to the sharks? Anytime, Cedrella had fire in her after all. But even if Charis was abandoned in the silky, fragile cobweb of a spider; she would be devoured.

She watched a raven-haired Slytherin witch entering in the hall, her arms linked with the sandy blonde Gryffindor. They were walking in her direction. Something in her gut twisted as he watched her fiancée chaperoning one of the recognized beauties of Hogwarts – who still had to reach puberty, so she supposed that one day the girl would be even more breath-taking. She couldn't say anything, however, as she had been the one to shun the younger boy.

Her eyes finally caught the expression on the girl's. The girl was frozen, her expression stoned as if she had just meet a gorgon – an event that considering her Parseltongue abilities, would probably end without her like that. Her eyes had profound dark circles under them. Callidora brushed away those feelings of envy – as she had taken care to never be hostile to the girl, who according to both Harfang and she had no feelings for him – and allowed an expression of worry take over.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I found her near the Durmstrang tower like this. " Harfang say, concern stamped on his face. Callidora could see how worried he was – he was completely ignored the looks the other Slytherins were sending to his crimson robes.

"Should we call Riddle?" She inquired, knowing that the girl's fiancée would probably be able to sort things out.

"Call me why?" A voice snapped behind them and the Black girl looked over her shoulder to see the 5'5 ft form of a Tom Riddle towering over them. "Anya?"

"Arawn?" The girl snapped and hissed something to the boy. Callidora watched with interest as his face turned from concern to giddiness.

Somehow, the smirk the boy showed them as he kissed his partner's knuckles and rest of arm didn't help to ease Callidora's uneasiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accepting bookmarks, kudos and comments 24/7


	13. Thirteenth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...here I am again. And now things will start to get more tangled.
> 
> Beta: lil'hawkeye3
> 
> 'this is parseltongue in italic'
> 
> /this is mermish in italic/
> 
> this is a thought in italic
> 
> \- and everything is an excess of italic. You know the disclaimer - the fact that this is FANfiction makes everything pretty obvious.

 

Anya hadn't been able to sleep at all that Friday night. It had barely been past three o'clock in the morning when she got up, deciding that her endeavour would bear no fruits. Sorting her robes out, she chose a dark green gown with buttoned cuffs and a heavy cloak – the weather in Scotland at night wasn't very warm during the middle of September- and walked into the bathroom in order to soak in some hot water.

After slipping out of their room around four, Anya made sure that nobody was at the common room – snogging couples could sometimes take a while – before hissing to the entrance door. It wasn't a secret that she was a Parselmouth, but only Tom and she knew that all doors in the Slytherin dorm could be opened by a simple order in the language. It was a rule they had learnt the year before: Parseltongue was the main language of the dungeons.

"Miss Donbyre, are you sure you should be out of your bed right now?" A voice asked behind her.

"Mr. Grubb!" She exclaimed, looking at the overweight ghost of the Victorian man. "You won't rat me out, will you?"

"Of course not, young lady. Gentlemen don't do such things to young women. No, of course not. When they find one out of their beds, they insist that they should accompany them on their quests! Where are you going? I must ask."

"I'm going to the Great Lake, Edmund. I wish to talk a little with its inhabitants."

"Perhaps I should allow you to continue alone." He answered. "I rather dislike the outdoors. But I can call Captain Digswell," he offered kindly.

"There will be no need. Griffin Beak is receiving some of his friends at the moment, including Banshee's Grin. I guess he won't prefer the copy over the authentic." She stated, taking the map she had drawn the year before out of her robes. "I have this; you shouldn't worry."

"As you wish, dear lady."

The dim light provided by the night sky's stars brightened her way as the soft lumos charm at the tip of her wand hovered over the magical map, guiding her way. She reached the narrow stone staircase that linked the Lookout Tower to the Dungeon Corridor and the Entrance Dungeon.

"Point me exit Great Lake!" She enchanted, watching as her wand swirled around and pointed to her feet. Apparently, the nearest exit wasn't following through the bridge at the lookout tower. She walked down the staircase, feeling the atmosphere getting wetter and the walls getting barer.

It seemed that her spell had failed with her, however, as the steps ended in front of a wall of a tiny room, with a green snake tapestry in it. A dead end. She huffed, outraged that her wand wasn't working as it was supposed – but when she did the same pointing spell and the wand pointed to the wall, Anya knew it wasn't a coincidence. Her wand didn't fail twice.

 _'Revelio!'_ And so the tapestry revealed its secrets – a knob near her knees, which opened a tiny door to a bare cave. Anya grinned, promising to herself to add that cave to her map. It was a narrow but long cave, and if her spells were anything to go by, a cave that lead to an exit.

She wandered through it with her path illuminated, decidedly following the path she knew to lead somewhere. It couldn't be that far. Most caves of Hogwarts weren't that huge, and she had found many of them. This particular one was no exception. Her vision soon caught the natural light looming over her head, and she looked up to the opening, which was hidden by a bush. The gentle sound of water indicated that the exit had really led her to the Great Lake. Very simple.

Anya got over the tip of her toes, realising that yes, it would be quite easy to fly out the opening, and that yes, there was nobody around to see her floating out of the ground. But, obviously, she had to stumble over a rock in the ground and fall over herself.

She continued to tumble, sliding over a hole she hadn't noticed before. Anya couldn't contain the shriek of surprise at the abrupt fall – adrenaline taking over her heart as she fell through the endless unknown. She held her wand tightly to her chest, because if she lost or snapped it, sneaking out in the middle of the night would conclude to have been her worst idea ever.

She landed on hard stone, out of breath – her wand intact, but not her skin. Several bruises and cuts bled and tarnished her clothes due to the harsh fall. "Episkey. Tergeo. Reparo," She charmed, healing her minor injuries while clearing the blood out of her robes and mending the slashes on them.

The cave where she was was far more inhospitable than the former, and colder; she could tell even though heating charms circled her. The ceiling was very low, in a way that obliged her to hunch forwards as she stood up. She reached towards the enclosed walls of the narrow tunnel because the uneven ground made her steps unstable.

Anya checked out the passage through which she had fallen and agreed that yes, she could still fly out of wherever she had landed herself. Satisfied with that, she left it for later.

There was probably something very Gryffindorish in exploring possible unknown grounds in the middle of the school, which could be the home of several deadly creatures. Still, as she was neither truly hurt nor worried over escaping, she was tempted into a bit more wandering.

The Slytherin witch had never heard about such a cave in any of the books she had read about the school. Well, actually, she had never heard about a passage at the end of the dungeons staircase, so it probably has been built for Parselmouths exclusively.

A hole in the middle of the grounds was probably more obvious – she would have to investigate it, maybe there were notice-me-not charms in it, aside of a small bush? Tom would find it interesting…maybe this cavern ought to be the way she could be freed of his inquiries about her visions – which had turned even more confusing?

Her most recent one had involved a frozen lake: her body kept hitting it, while she struggled to free herself from…a snake? And then several dead bodies were trying to drag her into the water while at the same time they were burnt by a big fire serpent?

The chamber she suddenly found herself in was quite similar to the one in her vision. It was wide and although still low-celled, she could maintain her posture high now. The ground was bare, but not difficult to walk on. But the most breath-taking aspect of it was the ceiling.

The ceiling was water.

Not frozen water, but liquid water – not falling from the ceiling, but neither quite contained by something solid. When she reached for it, her hand dived in it. And when she took it away, it was still wet, proving that she wasn't hallucinating. She was at the bottom of the lake, the dry bottom of the Great Lake.

It was dark in the room, but that could expected considering how deep she was. The only light source was still her wand, and it illuminated the water beautifully. She was sure she could make out the shadows of the Giant Squid there.

How deep was she, by the way? The Great Lake had a colony of Merpeople and a Giant Squid, it should be as deep at least a thousand feet. She hadn't noticed she had gone so low…a flight of a thousand feet, how exciting.

She wouldn't be able to get out at all.

Now the prospect of exploring wasn't so exciting. Fucking Gryffindors and their contagious, adventurous spirits: this was all Harfang Longbottom's fault! She'd die there…she had known how things would end up and she still had insisted in doing them. Her skeleton would lie at the bottom of the Great Lake for centuries, until one unadvised student fell down there again.

Anya was panicking, as she was plainly aware of it. But she knew she wasn't capable of flying out such great distance… Now she had to be reasonable. People would miss her and go searching for her as soon as the day started. At least she had her wand- she could send red sparks through the hole. The Vermillious Charm wasn't magically tiring, so performing it several times would be no trouble. And if that didn't work, there were countless tracking charms that could be used to find her, if this place wasn't unplottable.

She doubted it was – surely, to the outside world it was unplottable; after all, this still could be counted as Hogwarts's grounds... But why would someone try to hide this? And if that didn't work…something would.

Anya only had to wait for the school to rise with the sun. That would take some time, she supposed.

Merlin, she was so much in trouble. Tom'd throw a fit.

The raven haired witch looked up the ceiling, feeling a crazy idea forming in the corner of her brain. Maybe if she…

Her head was suddenly compressed by a heavy body of water, and she was sure that her head would explode. And her eardrums, and her eyes. The air left her mouth at the same moment, and Anya took her head out of the lake, gasping out loud. Bad idea, she should have first tried a bubble-head charm. What a deadly idea she had. If the lack of air didn't kill her, the water pressure would. That was what? Thirty times bigger than the air pressure she was used to?

Well, that was impossible. She would have died instantly if that had been the case – actually, she doubted she'd be able to plunge her head. Anya knew that Merpeople couldn't have an internal pressure so high. Perhaps the water was enchanted? Or who knew, magical bodies were incredible resistant to high pressures?

There had to be an explanation. But now, she had to get out. "Ebulbio." She said, conjuring a full-bodied bubble around her body. "Premo." She pressurized her body and the bubble to the maximum she could without warming herself. "Ascendio." She said, pushing herself into the ceiling.

The bubble around her body went through the water surface, a cold immediately took over her. Why hadn't she thought of these? She would freeze to death. And making fire in the bubble would consume oxygen. "Fiendfyre."

The heat of the cursed fire suddenly warmed her cheeks, but thanks Merlin her hedgehog of fire – she had chosen that specific animal because of the shape of it, of course – was around the bubble. That was a brilliant idea in an absolute mental-deranged way. Fiendfyre couldn't be extinguished by water. Except for the fact that she had to keep her magic concentrated in keeping the wild curse, as letting it loose would simply make her unable to cancel it; which meant that she would have to swim all her way up instead of using the Ascendio charm again.

Anya sighed, promising to herself that the next night she had troubles to sleep, she would spend the night staring into the dark, like everyone else did. She wasn't even a great swimmer, for goodness's sake! And it wasn't an exactly easy thing to do when you were locked in a bubble of air and fire.

Of course, her natation soon attracted the glances of some Merpeople. Which would have been great and all, considering she had fled from her dorm to speak to them, but invading their lake surrounded by a mammal of fire wasn't exactly the best first meeting – their violent reactions to her advances told her. And by violent reactions, she meant they trying to poke her with a spear.

 _/I come in peace!/_ She shouted in Mermish. / _Please, I wish you no harm!/_ That was effective in making them to stop their attempts of harming her, although she was almost sure they were more surprised with her speaking their language than considering her words. The feral looks in their eyes gave that away.

A female selkie approached her, a grindylow perched on her left shoulder, a beautiful deadly-looking trident in her right. / _What are you doing here, pup? And where did you learn our language? Answer the questions of Merchieftainess Murcus./_

 _/I'm trying to reach the surface, Chieftainess. Dylan Marwood has taught me all I know./_ She explained, trying to keep her flames in check as she spoke. Still, one of the hedgehog's spins reacted violently to a merman who had gotten too close, burning his hand and instantly making all selkies surrounding her to point their spears to her. The creature whined behind her, and peacefulness left the merchieftainess face.

Her trident expanded, growing up in length enough to be held against Anya's throat without keeping the female in a close range. She cancelled the curse with difficulty, and the merchieftainess broke her bubble at the same moment, as it had only been held whole by the fire. The chief of the village grabbed her arm amuckly and the witch felt her body being dragged through the lake quickly.

Anya took a deep breath when her lungs finally absorbed some air and her arms reached for the ground. She was safe. A bit panicked and trembling like a damned chihuahua, but safe. She looked at the merchieftainess who had saved her life, albeit she had done it in the harshest way possible. But Anya understood her reason's, she had harmed her people, even if unintentional.

The female selkie gave a shriek, which could be understood as: / _Never dare to invade our village again./_

Anya screeched some thanks as well. The merchieftainesss ignored her and disappeared in the waters of the lake again. Well, she was sure that had been the worst first impression she had ever made.

The Slytherin took a look around where she had been abandoned. A tiny island near the lakeshore, which was linked to the grounds by a shallow, submerged path. It was covered by underbrush, yellow bloomed gorse shrubs she had seen from below – now she knew why no distracted student had ever fallen in the hole that led to the underbelly of the lake; she supposed not many of them had swam in the Great Lake, and those who had had never found the isle.

Anya laughed out loud in a half-insane manner that was justified. She was tired, she was frozen, she was drenched, and she had a cut from a trident on her throat. And on top of that, the sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon. She lay among the bushes, appreciating the feeling of her chest rising and falling while trying to gather her forces and her magic.

"Calio." She said, performing the hot-air charm all over herself when she finally felt able to. "Reparo. Episkey."

She was incredible hungry, even more so than tired. Deciding that doing nothing in the middle of the Great Lake was counterproductive, Anya stood up. She crossed the lake by foot, wading in the shallow path, her feet splashing water everywhere while she held the hem of her robes high to avoid them being re-soaked.

She walked pass the Durmstrang Towers, hoping that nobody had already awoken there, and if someone had, that this person wasn't looking through the winter specifically to find an individual outside so early. It wasn't that she looked that bad. Her hair was a mess and she probably wore a tired expression, but her robes were decent and she was dry; which was more than someone in that situation could expect. However, she really thought that if someone was looking, this person would found curious someone coming out of the lake in the beginning of the morning.

No such luck, apparently.

"Nun, schauen Sie, die große Nastya Donbyre! Magst du schwimmen?" He questioned her enjoyment in swimming. "Ich Abneigung es nicht." She agreed with a suspicious glance to his lack of reaction.

"Mögen Sie Glücksspiel?" He inquired once again, this time about her tastes in gambling.

"Ich ziehe es andere Dinge zu spielen." She answered, lightly offended, as she really did not enjoy any kind of bets.

"Verzeihen Sie mir, ich hörte darüber." He asked her forgiveness. "Ich wollte nur fragen, ob Sie eine Wette zu platzieren wollte - das Interscholastic Quidditch-Turnier. Ich denke nicht." Apparently, she had just missed her chance of betting about the Interschool Quidditch Tournament. She could live without that.

She smiled to him only, while he continued, accompanying her to the castle. "Ich habe versucht, Klavier einmal zu possln." She didn't recognise the word she had used, but she assume it was about a piano, playing it? "Sie befinden sich im Orchester, sind Sie nicht?" He asked her if she was in the Orchestra.

"Ich spiele das Cello." She explained.

"And your parents live in the Krems? They are the Donbyre compositors, aren't they?" He asked. She had to contain her breath of relief when he finally left the German in exchange for the English, just in time, one would say. "Yes."

"Ach, Fräulein Donbyre! You really should visit your parents more times. One would think that you have spent your whole life in Berlin by the way you speak!" He grinned at her, and Anya felt her insides froze as he winked to her with that malicious grin of his.

He patted her on her back, leaving her behind in real panic. She should have answered something.

He couldn't have found out, could he? Well, he had. And he was obviously feeling ready to use it as a weapon; why did all the sick students found her interesting? First Kneeler, now this guy. But Kneeler knew they were Parselmouths, Meier…Meier's knowledge was far more dangerous.

Obviously, Dumbledore knew that they were orphans, which was probably far more than this Austrian boy knew. But she trusted Dumbledore. If he knew they were lying their identities, he would indulge them. Perhaps he would try some counselling, but that was it. Dumbledore was a half-blood in the lighter sides of politics. None pureblood supremacist – the people who mattered, according Tom – would hear him. Actually, if he spoke, they would find it even more untruthful.

But Dominik Meier? She knew nothing about him. And if the gleam in his eyes was any indicative, he wouldn't be that passive.

She imagined an expression of disgust on Dorea's face when she looked at her. On Ragnar's, on Abraxas's, on Orion's, on Brianna's. And those were only the Slytherins. Harfang, Laws, Charlus, Sean, Deodor, Maeve, they weren't pureblood supremacist, but what would they say if they knew of her lies? Laws's mother, Maeve and Sean were half-bloods; what they would think of her standing up for her origins?

_I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you._

_If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people._

Losing her friends over lies.

_Oh, what a tangled web we weave...when first we practice to deceive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Selkies are half-seals so a baby seal is a pup. And I love Austria, but Meier is a bastard - that isn't negotiable. Well, Tom is also a bastard but he is one of the protagonists so...A good feedback inspires me and thanks for reading.


	14. Fourteenth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta:lil'hawkeye3, amazing as always, thanks!

Of course, Tom was excited when he heard about the cavern. She had told him he'd better find a broomstick if he wanted to go down.

She didn't tell her partner-in-crime about her encounter with a certain Austrian. Tom could be too harsh sometimes. After that, the day continued peacefully, and Meier never approached her again. He neither did in the following weeks, and in a blink of eye, it was already the first day of October: a Sunday.

The Ancient Studies booth was one of the most interesting in the Quad, with life-sized shabti – clay servants – of an Erumpent, a Tebo and two Fwoopers, and pocket-sized shabti of a Romanian Longhorn and a Nundu. She had also a live-sized human shabti working as her "propaganda" boy, handing invitations to everyone who passed. They had hieroglyphics written around, and paintings of the reactions to the spells in those. A scrying bowl showed a visage of the Great Lake surrounded by trees on fire – in which another bowl had been placed.

"So let me see... this 'stahp' hieroglyphic is like the disarming charm? Do most of those spells have their Latinised counterpart or just those?" Dorea inquired, braiding the tip of her hair in boredom.

"Well, 'stahp' is a bit more lethal than stealing the wand. It actually cuts off the target's hand at the wrist. Several spells do have similar effects to the Latinised ones; for example, 'se-kebeb,' which can be compared to a freezing charm."

"Why study it? You spent too much time preparing yourself to do this kind of magic."

"First of all, because this isn't the only branch of magic. There is elemental, scrying, telepathy, sympathetic magic…and second, spell-making. It's far easier to find a hieroglyphic which matches with your intentions and send your magic to it." She explained. "What about the Astronomy Club?"

"I'm getting a break. Alphard is the only Black of the newcomers, and he already says he is out." Dorea told her, eliciting a laugh of the other.

"We have to appreciate the fact that your family alone forms one club in the school." Anya teased.

"There are some others outsiders…but believe me, they have no idea what they are doing." Dorea snorted together with her. "Because of that, I don't work with inviting people. Apparently, I can be quite fierce with those who don't understand the galaxies yet insist that they do."

"Lady Lyra told you to get lost?"

"She did." The pureblood girl exclaimed in outrage. "Nonsense, isn't it?"

"No wonder she did, I say." Charlus said from behind Dorea. "She is from a distant branch, isn't she? Because insanity runs out in the main one."

Dorea shoved the boy hard. "Nobody asked you, Potter."

"Don't ask questions if you don't want them to be answered." Charlus popped up on a bench, and Anya rolled her eyes at their bickering. They had recently taken that route on their friendship, something about Dorea's owl, Vega, eating Charlus's frog-rabbit hybrid, Goggle. "You were fantastic on a broom last year, Nastya. I will try out for the Quidditch Team, promise me you won't."

Anya laughed. "I won't, Charlie. I'm pretty good here. Which position you will be trying for?"

"Chaser. Campbell left, so it's opened. It will be hard to substitute him, but I was tempted. If you were a Gryffindor, I would encourage you to try out." He snorted. "As it is, I'm glad. I don't feel that your house deserves our Quidditch Cup."

"They don't like Quidditch, Potter, they are girls. I cannot believe you are so oblivious." Abraxas sneered, approaching them while holding two glasses of wine. Dorea took one of them thirstily out of his hands.

"I don't dislike Quidditch, Ax." Dorea pointed out.

Charlus had gotten a bit flushed. "I'm a gentleman, Malfoy!"

"No, you aren't. But that shouldn't be surprising. No lion is."

"Shut it, Abraxas." Anya instructed. "Gryffindors value chivalry, and Charlie is a good knight in shining armour. You can be the Victorian gentleman. No harm done."

"Yes, both can continue as drama queens." Dorea mumbled with her lips touching the glass. "Nastya will be the damsel in distress. I can be the widowed aunt who has lots of younger lovers."

"Your life ambitions are appealing, Dora." Abraxas snorted; "Longbottom was looking for you, Potter. I think he was missing his side-kick."

Charlus sputtered in rage, and Anya decided that it was enough. Handing the miniature shabti of dragon to the Gryffindor – his favourite creature – Anya ordered him to show it around, preferably with Harfang. Properly distracted, the messed-haired wizard was happy to leave them behind. The emerald-eyed witch shook her head in amusement, before turning to pin the blonde boy in front of her with a stare.

"I'd prefer if you didn't openly contradicted my friends in other houses. It isn't easy to build an good image among the school as a whole if you are a Slytherin."

"I was doing it out of orders. Tom's orders." Abraxas explained. "Go talk with your fiancée if it bothers you."

"How many times I have to say we aren't engaged?" Anya asked in disbelief and in the next moment she felt something pressing her lips gently. She looked down the glass full of dark red liquid on her lips. "What is this?"

"Superior Red, my family's vintage claret. Open your mouth." Abraxas commanded, and Anya saw no reason to deny him. He pushed a sip down her throat, and Anya hummed. She knew absolutely nothing about wines, but it was good, fierce even – a bit too much to her, in truth.

"That's all you do in the Maenad Club? Drink wine?" Dorea inquired.

"There are worse ways to spend your time, don't you think? But we have some debates as well."

"Intoxicated discussions. Now it seems so much better." The pureblood witch deadpanned.

A fourth-year Hufflepuff with olive skin and long black hair smiled over at the trio, specifically Anya. "Thanks, Nastya, I will take over now. Professor Trocar is going to kill me if I keep his cellist for much longer." Maya Gowda said, dismissing her. "But if you find Master Sankara, tell him that his presence is requested here so he can give a lecture."

Master Amon Sankara was the never-present teacher of Ancient Studies. He was actually a renowned curse-breaker of Gringotts, who had been contracted by Dippet to teach once a week at Hogwarts. He was brilliant and unfortunately, very busy. And when he wasn't busy, he was trying to seduce the staff. She found him flirting with the healing apprentice of Durmstrang, Ms. Adelberg.

"Master Sankara, Maya Gowda is threatening you to go back to the Ancient Studies booth." She said, grinning at his companion. Beside her, Abraxas chuckled at the man's gulp.

"Anya dear, wouldn't you be able to tell her that you couldn't find me?"

"Don't fear facing a fifteen year old, sir. You can deal with worse."

"I can't deal with you, and you are twelve."

"Age isn't the synonym of worse, sir. You already seem to be dealing with an older girl well." Anya said, fleeing before she could hear his response. She didn't want to be convinced into dealing with an angry Maya either. Tom was enough.

Professor Trocar had planned an outdoor rehearsal for the full-orchestra, which could be categorised as a chamber orchestra, with forty-two musicians. They were to play at the Sundian Garden, a large garden in the grounds with a stone circle in it. It was located just outside the wooden bridge, which granted access to the clock tower courtyard where the booths were this year. A sonorous charm was to be used on the instruments, allowing the sound to travel to the courtyard and attract the students to the performance.

Professor Trocar was a vampire, which was a pretty unfitting characteristic in a teacher – first because as nocturnal creature, a vampire awake in the daylight was moody and sleepy; second, because vampires were extremely scheming creatures and Anya wouldn't put past him making passes at students and tasting a bit of their blood. He was definitely the kind of teacher that you had to keep your guard around – or you could end up dead, or at least anaemic.

He was a renowned musician and conductor, though, and the perfect teacher for Ghoul Studies – and because of that, Dippet had employed him. He wasn't a boring, or hate-able person once you got to know him better. Anya got along pretty well with the man, although Tom did better. One would almost think the two were best buddies – which spoke volumes about their characters.

Conducing an orchestra outdoors was potentially problematic for a vampire, and because of that, the pedestal in which a maestro usually stood was actually a black tent made of a material that the vampire refused to reveal the name of – there was a bet among the orchestra members about it being a magical creature's leather. Whatever it was, it completely hid his gaunt face and slender body to everybody except the orchestra.

Abraxas sneered at her side, looking at the tent. "It's true that Tabassum Trocar is a vampire, then?"

"How did you guess- were the long fangs an indicator?" Dorea inquired.

"He never walks around Hogwarts during the day, only for the rehearsals. It's more surprising that you have seen his fangs than me not seeing them." Abraxas pointed out. "How did that happen, Dora?"

"I went to one of the rehearsals with Nastya, perhaps? Tom never invited you, Ax?" The Black scion provoked her friend, laughing when the Malfoy heir refused to answer.

"Arawn is too shy for that, Dora." Anya informed in a teasing manner. "Can't you see how introverted he is; his fellow violinists eat out of his hand?"

"That's admirable of him. My father said Tom was a very promising man, according to my observations." Abraxas parroted, at the same time Dorea rolled her eyes.

"Yes, and you couldn't have thought of this without him, could you, Ax? You are better than this."

"My father is a respectful member of society."

"Mine is an arse…an incompetent one. I swear, if it wasn't for Pollux, I would fear for my future. When I consider my brother, I only have to fear for my offspring, and my ability to raise them. Wally is a lost cause, and Cygnus isn't any better. I suppose Alphie could be saved, if he landed on Earth for enough time."

"My father is very comprehensive and original. Mother gets the more down-to-earth side of things, although she is also rather creative." Anya lied.

"They are musicians, that's expected. It's a blood thing, isn't it? All Blacks are crazy, all Malfoys are pompous, and all Donbyres are musical." Dorea commented. "All Lestranges are unique, all Potters have messy hair, all Longbottoms are honourable, all Rowles are luxurious, all Dolohovs are strong."

"Will you stay to watch?" Anya asked them, changing the subject.

"Of course, I can see my little nephew with Nott's little cousin and Zabini, what an opportunity to embarrass family members!" Dorea declared, walking down to the side of the stone circle.

"Have you seen Arawn? I lost my sight of him." Anya questioned to the blonde wizard.

"Tom is talking with Miss Moon, Nastya. Allow me to accompany you to your seat." He offered his arm to her, which she took gracefully, letting him guide her to the vacant seat with a cello – her cello. Abraxas then kissed her knuckles and excused himself, like a true gentleman. She watched as he left to Dolohov's side.

[][][][][][][]

Georgiana Moon laughed at Tom's caustic remarks over Hogwarts boyfriend material. Really, the boy's wit was interminable. She had no idea how their conversation over the utility of the seize and pull charm when the summoning charm existed had evolved into a confession of her troubles finding proper lovers and an evaluation of what the school offered.

"No, Fawley isn't bad. It's absurd to divide people into good or bad. People are either charming or tedious." He said, making her look surprisedly at him.

"You know Wilde? How has a pureblood ever heard of him, Tom?" She laughed as she classified the people she had been thinking as bad with the adjective tedious – it was a surprisingly right match.

"Although my blood is pure, my mind isn't as pure…prudish, Georgie." He winked at her. "No, that would be immensely boring. And we can't be allowed to be boring, can we?"

"You could have been in Ravenclaw, Tom. You must have read more books than any fifteen year olds in this dammed school – and I won't speak of any younger students. You are very witty; I'm surprised that the Sorting Hat landed you in Slytherin, you being far from a traditionalist arse."

"Thank you, I think. But don't allow yourself to be fooled, Georgie. As Mr. Maugham once said, 'Quotation is a serviceable gift for wit; but having its gift doesn't classify someone as witty.'"

She laughed again. "Well Tom, let me see if you are as gifted with a violin as you are with your eidetic memory, then."

"You didn't pay attention to the end-of-the-term feast? I'm wounded now." He said, taking her to one of the seats which had been conjured to those students who would watch. "Wish me luck, Georgie."

"Good luck, Mr. Riddle. And call me Georgiana; I can't let everyone hear a second-year calling me that!"

"You have charmed her completely." Anya commented as he sat at her side, grabbing his violin.

"Gina is an intelligent girl; she knows I'm not sincere. However, when you are deeply entranced in politics without having real endurance in it, sometimes you allow yourself to be manipulated only for the sake of having an enjoyable conversation." Tom explained, testing his bow.

Anya hummed in agreement, stretching her body and winking in assurance to Anne Harris, who had just sat a few rows forward. "Which doesn't lessen much the manipulation, as fondness and loyalty to someone are things induced subconsciously."

"Indeed. I have come to believe that those who notice the manipulation are the most affected by it – as they feel some safety around it for recognizing it. This turns them more susceptible." He stated.

"You would know how to read your own schemes better." Anya conceded.

"Yes. Have you talked with Henry Potter and Hengist Longbottom?"

"Uh-hum. Mr. Potter is only curious about his boy's first female friend; but Lord Longbottom wants to know if I'm going to interfere with the marriage contract – which I already assured him I won't."

"Good. We will have to meet them someday, even if they are borderline blood-traitors." Tom pointed out, satisfied with the tuning.

"They are rich, they will never be called that…You realise that this is a rehearsal, don't you Arawn? There is no use of naming it like that if everything is going to sound perfect." Anya changed subjected harshly when she decided that there were too much musicians around to that kind of talk. "The tuning doesn't need to be the best."

"As if anything imperfect would be acceptable."

[][][][][][][]

A week after the club recruitment, Dorea and Brianna were woke up by screams. The source of those screams was a frightened Anastasia Donbyre. She was panting heavily and crying in despair, a dream – possibly a nightmare. Brianna groaned – it wasn't the first time that happened, but it had been awhile. Dorea took a look at her friend's bleeding arm and rushed to her bedside.

"Stop it, Nasyta! It was only a dream! Stop it!" She ordered, and her pixie haired friend ran to her side, helping the Black witch to stop the emerald-eyed one. "Alright there?" Brianna inquired. "It was only a dream, you see."

"Thanks you two. It's fine now." Anya assured them, watching carefully as Dorea got silent.

"Do you want to talk about it? It helps." Brianna offered, but looked relieved when Anya refused her proposition. "Okay, I'm going back to bed." The blonde girl declared, and in a few minutes, only the black-haired duo was awake, the younger one of them writing in small notebook.

Dorea sneered. "She is not the best friend kind, but harmless enough, I suppose."

"The opposite to you." Anya noted. "Any reason for piercing me with your eyes in the last minutes?"

"You hurt yourself. This was in no way a common nightmare." Dorea pointed out, retreating to her bed.

"No." Anya agreed, and it was soon obvious that she wouldn't say anything else about it.

Dorea sighed, understanding quickly. "If you are not going to tell me, you at least have to tell Tom."

"I promise I will."

"Great, now come here." Dorea commanded, bringing her sheets up.

"Are you serious?" She asked, surprised that the pureblood witch would even think of sharing a bed.

"No, I'm Dorea. My uncle is, though. And my grandfather had a brother named Sirius as well. He died when he was eight. Are you coming?" She said again, and this time, Anya slipped into her bed. "Goodnight, Anya."

[][][][][][][]

"Oh, isn't this a sweet image?!" Brianna's voice swooned. Dorea opened her eyes and groaned, great way of waking up. "Get up, you two. Today is the first game between schools. And I have a cute German boy waiting for me."

"I don't watch Quidditch." Not after you had to give up on being in the Quidditch Team, Dorea completed in her mind. "Besides, isn't twelve years a bit early for a date?" Anya continued at her side.

"I will be thirteen in four months. And differently from you, I don't have a fiancée – I have to enjoy it, don't I?" The pink-blond witch fastened her blood-red and dark brown robes. "Does it suit me?"

"No. You would do better with the colours of Beauxbatons. Are you really wearing their colours?" Dorea inquired.

"Yes. I'd stick out like sore thumb in Hogwarts colours in the midst of Durmstrang students." She answered, appalled that they hadn't thought of that.

"Whatever. Just ignore me and the rest of the student body saying that you look like a ridiculous Gryffindor." Dorea shrugged. "Come on, Nastya, we have to dress up like thinking people and have breakfast."

"Before I have breakfast I should go speak with Arawn, actually." Anya explained, choosing a grey platted robe with green details of her trunk and slipping into their bathroom.

Dorea huffed in bewilderment. The times Tom managed to steal her friend for her. Well, she would have to go bother Abraxas because of that. Dressing up in dark green and black, she styled her hair in a voluminous bun and walked out of her dormitory.

"Clemency!" Dorea called, seeing the blonde girl walking arm-in-arm with a gaudy looking brunette. "Are you going to the Quidditch pitch?"

"Yes, Dora. Tori, have you ever been introduced to Dorea? She is the sister of Lord Black. Dora, this is Vittoria Zabini, the daughter of Casimiro Zabini, the director of Advocates to the Wizarding Ministry." She said with much decorum and self-importance.

"I know of her, Clemency. It's nice to meet you, Ms. Zabini. How are you fairing against all male students that seem to be attracted to Slytherin?"

"Pretty well. Primrose is nice and Bones is very…reserved. The excess of males isn't a bother." The two firsties shared a laugh. "Your nephew is very funny, by the way, Dora."

"Alphie? Indeed, he is. And what about that other girl, Mabelle? Marianne?"

"Ah, Shabby-Anne." The brunette said with disgust.

"Shab- I mean, Mab-Anne is so poor, Dora. She is always wearing those pauper robes, and her hair is so out-fashioned. I can't believe the Sorting Hat placed her in Slytherin…she is a taint in our reputation." Clemency complained.

"Shabby-Anne, Clemency? I always thought of you as someone kind, Clemency, otherwise I would never let you near my family. Are you saying that you just shunned a pureblood girl because of her clothes?" Dorea said coldly, making the younger girl wince.

Feeling no use in sticking around, Dorea walked into the Great Hall, greeting those in her house-table with nods and plopping beside Abraxas's seat. "Hello boys. Riddle around?"

"Nastya took him away." Abraxas responded, handing her a plate with poha. Dorea hummed in appreciation, her favourite kind of breakfast – Indian. "You don 't know what I had to do to find something like this, Dora."

"I suppose you bribed a Hufflepuff, they are the only ones who know where the kitchens are. Thanks, Ax, I love you."

"Uck. That's a disgusting thought." He moaned in pain.

"Don't be a gentleman with me, then. Oi, Ragnar, is that Mab-Anne Perks?" Dorea inquired, pointing to the tiny brunet whose long hair covered half of her face. "The first year whose grandmother was a Bulstrode?"

"Yes...oh, your mother was a Bulstrode. Are you thinking of family aid to Perks?" Ragnar inquired, and Dorea agreed absent-minded.

Her mother had died some years ago, mysteriously found dead in Knockturn Alley. The main suspect was her father's lover at time, Lavinia Carrow – but then, the murderer could also have been Dorea's sister-in-law. Dorea was never very fond of her mother, who was a weak-willed woman with no self-respect, but she couldn't deny her family ties, could she?

"Hello. You are Mab-Anne, aren't you? I'm Dorea. My mother was cousins with your grandmother." She said, unfastening a ribbon of her cuffs and using it to tie the girl's hair in a high ponytail. "So, I heard you have faced some problems in your dorm. That's quite common. Now, I'm the favourite sister of Lord Black. If you have some self-preservation instinct, you will use my goodwill – or whatever this is – in your favour. And I think you have surviving instincts, otherwise, you wouldn't be sorted in Slytherin."

The girl looked at her. Dorea could see some beauty there – nothing noteworthy, but enough to be arranged in a beautiful way. Her hair was a mane of brown tresses; her eyes were faded her eyes dark, skin, pale. Mab-Anne nodded.

"Great, now I have a set of robes that will highlight the golden in your hair, what do you think?"

"It doesn't matter, does it?"

Dorea smirked. "No."

[][][][][][][]

"An archway which those who pass through it land in the Dead Land? Where is this?" Tom asked. "Orion dies there? How old does he look, exactly?"

"I wouldn't know. He couldn't be older than thirty-five…but in a way, he looked much older." Anya shuddered. "I will always find difficult to guess a wizard's age. Look at Dippet, he doesn't look three-hundred – not that I know many people at this age. But Dumbledore doesn't look almost sixty either. If I were to give his age, I'd say forty."

"That's not extremely helpful. But it's the first time you see someone we know – aside us." He noted. "And then there is this room. A room which gives you whatever you ask for, how useful can this be? And in Hogwarts! Any idea about the location?"

Anya denied. Really, why did he ask her to write every dream of her if he was going to quiz her on everything she wouldn't know. Actually, she knew – to latter. "How are you going with your research on the Slytherin family?"

"Nowhere. I can say that Adelina Slytherin married in the Peverell line, in the same way Iolanthe Peverell married Hardwin Potter. And since then, the family has been extinct in male line. However, it's impossible to state that the Potters have any relations to Slytherin. It's obvious that Adelina lived at the end of the 11th century; but left the country at the beginning of the Crusades with her husband, a Lovell Peverell. I believe whatever children they had was born in foreign lands – and married with foreign name. A daughter probably."

"Yes, otherwise the family wouldn't have become extinct in male line." Anya pointed out. "Is this extinction magically updated? And where did you find all these documents?"

"The Potters were never secretive about their relations to the Peverells. They even have a house in Godric's Hollow, where their ancestor is buried. Now, Adelina was the granddaughter of Slytherin. She was raised here in Hogwarts, when both her grandfather and her father abandoned the castle. There are registeries of this, if you know where to look." He sighed. "Unfortunately, there was nothing more to know. Some ghosts, some files in the library. And yes, the status of magical family is updated by a spell in Gringotts."

"Perhaps, if I can find this room which can transform in everything, you will be able to ask for such information. I'm pretty sure the ghosts know nothing about it – at least, most of them, and the minor group who knows something is tight-lipped – or else one of them would already have said. Nevertheless, I'll ask. The portraits can be more knowledgeable, or maybe the staff?" Anya pondered over that matter. "How long has Peeves lived here? Poltergeists are immortal, aren't they?"

"Amortal, I think. And the idea is interesting. Knowing the location of such room is productive, even if it proves to be fruitless regarding such matter."

"Yes, yes. How long do house-elves work here, by the way?"

"I didn't know that house-elves worked here, Anya, and I have no idea how long." He offered her arm to her. "Did you eat something?"

"I'm not hungry." She answered, linking their arms together. "Now, please tell me you didn't make any bets – much less in our school." She snorted. "Merlin, we will be awful in Quidditch. Not that the players aren't good – but taking the best of every house? Dolohov and Burke will kill Charlie, Boot and Dunbar. It doesn't matter if they are the best every team has to offer. One does not simply encourage a feud like this."

"Nothing to say about the keeper and the seeker?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw know how to put their differences to past in order to achieve a common goal. I honestly have what Madam Hooch was hoping for with a team like these. They may be the best of the school, but integrity is necessary in a team. And there is no trust between lion chasers and snake beaters." She sighed, entering the Hogwarts stands and seeking for her friends. "I suppose you will move away now?"

"Yes. Tripe has just arrived with Greengrass and Crabbe. I have no interest in Crabbe, his father lives off his inheritance, as his grandfather did – and it will be lacking until his generation. Now the other two…" Tom trailed off, but Anya nodded anyway. Linus Tripe was a well-known unspeakable and it some circles, there was the rumour he also was a necromancer. The Greengrass were a noble family, that while not very wealthy were of old-blood, and even older traditions. They were the kind of family that was there to improve the appearance of Noble and Most Ancient Houses once in a while. Very well connected.

Tom left, and Anya turned on her heels, looking for her roommates. Instead, she found an Austrian boy behind her.

"Anya! Did you make your bets already?" Dominik Meier asked. "Has Riddle bet on the other's foolishness as well?" He inquired with a grin.

"I don't bet, Meier." She snarled. "Now, can I help you? If I can't, would you screw off?"

"As it happens, you can." He grinned. "You see, I have a bet. Would you do me a favour?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what you are supposed to do to make me happy!


	15. Fifteenth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: lil'hawkeye3 - let's all thank the ability of someone making miracles

 

Cedrella Black could barely conceal her disgust with the man in front of her. Logically, she knew that Caesarus Malfoy was dreamy – more than most of the members of his family, actually, which was quite a feat by itself – with large pectorals, an incredibly angular face, short snow-white hair, long, dark lashes and deep, penetrating blue eyes. But he couldn't be compared to her Timmy.

She winced again as the man ignored her completely in his talk with Caligula Carrow, a young man who had recently wed Iuna Burke and was living off of his older wife's dowry. Cedrella shifted uncomfortably at his side – the woman was a ballroom fanatical, and she hated dancing. The younger witch had asked her about fashion after that – after all, most witches at parties were well-versed in the matter; the only part of a ball that she could enjoy were the robes and the alcohol.

The woman responded that she had no idea what was the difference between silk and taffeta and quite rudely told her that she had a seamstress to take care of this for her. And then, Cedrella had asked for some butterbeer – they were at the Three Broomsticks, after all – and the woman had sneered. In a last attempt, she had asked the woman her opinion of arithmancy when both of them saw the advertisement of a Naming Seer's services at the Witch Weekly.

The woman had the nerve to think that any kind of divination was a preference for silly girls whose naivety would lead them to death – and that she would never have children in order to deal with a girl like her. How couldn't someone wish for children?

Cedrella had looked up at her fiancée, who at the time should have noticed the discussion and stopped it. To her bewilderment, the man didn't seem to have heard a word at least for some moments, until a shade of a smirk graced his lips and Cedrella understood that she would find no help there.

Deciding that it was enough and preparing herself for an elegant leave, Cedrella tried to free her arm only to have Malfoy's grip on it harden – preventing her of leaving. She did nothing to hide her glare at him and finally Carrow and his spouse – or Burke and her lapdog – left. He looked at the matron and requested a private room for a while. The woman quickly summoned a key to him.

Malfoy pushed Cedrella inside it. "Oh there, feisty Black. A good blow on your pride, wasn't it? Yes, thanks Merlin. I will have to take sweet Iuna for that later." He taunted, patting her on her back in a patronizing manner. Cedrella quickly freed herself from his arms, rushing to the opposite side of the room – as far as possible from him. "I wasn't enduring a bratty bitch kicking around. Now, come here."

She obviously refused, taking her wand and pointing at him. "In Morgana name, can you please stop being that ridiculous?" The man sneered again. "Carpe Recractum." He chanted, and a rope made of darkness boomed of his wand, wrapping itself around her and pulling her close.

The rope pulled her chin up and he pushed his lips onto hers forcibly, shoving his tongue into her mouth as she attempted to free herself. Cedrella tried to breathe and squirm away, but his nails dug into her shoulder's skin, keeping her in place. She finally was able to clench her teeth and bit the uninvited intrusion at her mouth while jumping backwards at the same time.

She cast a hex Miranda Ghoshawk had taught her in her first year that turned the target's bogey into large black bats. She was almost positive that the man deflected it, but didn't look behind to see the results. She was much too focused on slipping away.

Preventing the urge to puke rising in her throat, Cedrella spat at the ground, trying to get his saliva out of her mouth. The nerve that man had! She refused to stand in his presence from now on, much less marry him.

Outside of Three Broomsticks, every student above second-year was shopping in the village. She watched as Timmy left Honeydukes with a large bag of sweets, an ice mice hanging from his mouth; she beamed at him, running to his side and holding her hand out palm-up.

He handed her a box of chocolate cauldrons and two exploding bonbons. She grinned at him; oh, he knew her so well. "So…should I be worried over losing you?" He had inquired good-naturely, watching in amusement as she moaned when the chocolate bonbon exploded deliciously on her mouth.

"In no way, Timmy. At least now." She said, with a grimace at the end. Her father was a stubborn man, and he wasn't very easy to convince – although she was trying. Absent-minded, she massaged her shoulder. Ouch. She better get something for it from the Hospital Wing when she returned.

Her ginger boyfriend followed her movements, noticing the pained expression on his girlfriend's face. Gently, he removed her hand from the spot and pushed her sleeve back a bit, taking a look at the purpling bruise on the witch's shoulder. His sky blue eyes darkened in unspoken, but not invisible, fury.

"Malfoy did this to you." That wasn't a question. Still, she nodded.

"I got him back."

"He kissed you?"

"I got him back." She said, a bit more frantically. The look on his face was terrifying. He was angry-- utterly enraged. The vast flock of freckles on his face seemed so fierce and dangerous now. Was he angry with her? Because she had allowed Malfoy to get her? Merlin, what if he left her? After all – why should he waste his time in a relationship with an engaged child, one who couldn't even take her family off her arranged marriage? Timmy was quite popular in Gryffindor, and she didn't doubt there were lots of beautiful girls in his year just waiting for him to dump her.

Cedrella touched her boyfriend's cheek, and stood in the tip of her toes to kiss him hungrily. He responded instantly to her lips – she sighed in relief at that. "Trust me when I say I got him back." She assured him, brushing one of his curls behind his ear.

"When I see him again…" He threatened, before smiling at her. "Well, I will leave him – for now. I have a beautiful, outspoken girl to escort, and I love her very much." His eyes twinkled. "Have you seen her around?"

Before she had time to smack him, they heard screams.

[][][][][][][][

Anya had no idea how she had managed to be the only second-year Hogwarts student at Hogsmeade that weekend. It probably had something to do with Dominik, and the fact that he had blackmailed her. She had been at the library that morning, doing all of his homework – which wasn't a real challenge for her – when the black-haired boy had told her he wanted her to run an errand for him.

She gritted her teeth at that. First there was the bet he had done and still didn't specify what it was, only that she would help him to win. Then the homework – he made a real effort with those, getting extracurricular work for her to complete as well. And now, this.

She had taken to observe him during the following month since he had contacted her, and now it was the middle of November and she still couldn't understand his reasons. Dominik Meier. Nobody knew of the Meiers family. But nobody knew of the Riddles or the Donbyres either. The large consensus was that the boy couldn't be a Muggle-born because Durmstrang didn't accept them. The boy was a third year student who had just turned fourteen years old. He did well in classes, although he wasn't the best of his year or anything similar. He usually presented a gentle, easy-going image in public – but that was far from the truth, as she knew. And apparently, he had mentioned once that he had not always had lived in Salzburg.

A slip up, obviously, as she had pried into the whole Germanic institute to achieve that information. If more people had known about that, it would've meant that he had said it more than once; but as it was, she was fairly certain that he only had mentioned it once.

He had lots of acquaintances and was part of several groups of friends. But she still had to find him alone with someone else – only one or two people by his side. So, no close friends; most of them still calling him by his surname. The kind of friendships in which you shared lots of jokes and conversations, but nobody shared secrets. Peculiar.

Anyway, there she was now – taking her first look on Hogsmeade with her blackmailer. At least it was also his first time in the village. They were alone, but several acquaintances of both the Austrian wizard and herself had greeted them. Euphemia Cadogan had looked at her questioningly around her boyfriend's back – probably remembering that Anya was a second-year and that she wasn't allowed there. The emerald-eyed witch shrugged; she had permission to be there – Slughron's permission. People couldn't use her presence there against her, at least.

All of the Durmstrang students were roaming around the village, as they had all been allowed in it as well. It was possibly the most profitable day Hogsmeade had seen in ages. And, her escort continued to keep her ignorant about the reason of her place of being, which immediately brought her mind to the thought she was only there to be showed off – and showed off she was being, her arms linked with the older boy as he stopped to talk with every acquaintance of his. Thanks Merlin the Slytherins didn't speak with Hufflepuff upperclassmen, otherwise she wouldn't know how to explain this situation.

Meier led them into Dervish and Banges. It was a tiny and dusty shop and young man reached them as soon as they entered. The man wore large tortoise shell glasses and a battered tweed suit, which spoke highly about his blood-status. Anya could even hear her foreign companion whispering something like: "Schlammblut."

Meier looked at the Muggle-born wizard in disgust, but spoke: "Mr. Jones owled me saying that my cane was ready." He stated, and the man went to look for the object. Anya looked at him. "Why would you need a walking stick?"

"I never said I needed one. I only paid for the repairing one." He explained, shortly before the man returned.

"Here it is, Mr. Meier. It will be nine Galleons and twelve Sickles." The man said, handing him the stick. The student sneered and threw the coins on the ground, obliging the man to bend down in order to reach them. He dragged Anya outside with him, not waiting to see the scene.

An interesting behaviour for someone who sat with Hufflepuffs, a house very accepting to Muggle-borns and muggle culture.

"I know that Durmstrang doesn't accept Muggle-born students, but are all students blood supremacists?" She inquired.

"There are lots of blood-traitors and half-breeds in Durmstrang, or we would have never been attacked." He shrugged. "Most proper reinblüters chose to remain at the school now that it's ruled by the Dark Lord."

"You didn't?"

"No. Now, shut up."

She arched an eyebrow. Strange someone like that chose to remain with people he despised. Still, she couldn't risk talking more about the subject – not with a denouncement hanging over her head. Anya took a look at his walking stick. It was made of dark wooden, the handle of the format of a white elephant in a platinum coloured metal that wasn't silver.

"What's the material of it?" She inquired.

"White gold and blackthorn." He glanced at her. "It's a present."

Anya nodded, knowing that insisting over more information would be useless. They were at the end of the High Street when the Austrian wizard stopped in front a shop with hundreds of owls and the words 'Post Office' on its front. Well, that was pretty self-explanatory.

"Are you an owl's owner?" Meier questioned her as she peered over his shoulder to see inside of the store. It was high-ceilinged, the dens in the walls the home of owls of all sizes. Over the counter, a blackboard:

Welcome!

Eagle Owl, for intercontinental deliveries – 1 Sickle

Snowy Owl, for international deliveries – 27 Knuts

Tawny Owl, for intercounty deliveries – 15 Knuts

Barn Owl, for intercity deliveries – 8 Knuts

Scops Owl, for local deliveries only – 3 Knut

We don't work neither with Pygmy or Elf Owls!

A slimy woman in oversized leather robes waved them in, several feathers hanging from her braided hair. "Hello, I'm Natalie; which one of these cuties you wish to employ?"

"A snowy owl, I have to deliver these." He declared, showing his just acquired walking stick. Natalie nodded, taking her wand out of her wand holster. "May I?" She asked permission, to which the wizard conceded. The witch cast some levitating and shirking charms before summoning a wrapper around it. "Marsaili!"

A snowy owl descended from its perch in all its albino glory, pitching high for attention. "There girl-- deliver this for the gentleman, will you?" She looked at Meier. "You can whisper the address when you want, young sir."

Meier nodded, and did it – in a way that Anya knew it was more to frustrate her than anything, as both she and the attendee were unable to hear. The owl immediately took the pack on her laws and flied through the widow. "That's it, young sir. It will be 27 Knuts. Young miss wants to make a delivery herself?"

Meier gave Anya a pointed look and she drawled a Sickle out of her purse with a huff. "No need, Natalie, I'm only a walking wallet." Anya said, tossing the coin to the woman. "Please, keep the change. I don't know what to do with two Knuts."

"As you wish, young miss, but remember what they say: In for a Knut, in for a Galleon."

"I take enough risks as it is, Natalie, thank you." She only had enough time to bide the owler farewell before being dragged out by Meier, again.

As they stepped out of the post office, a scream echoed through the street, and as if it was a trigger, pandemonium began. A cacophony of screams, widows being shattered and bodies being stepped over as people in the streets tried to run away. She couldn't see anything aside from the people pushing her and she could only hear their screams ripping into her eardrums. At the end of the street, something caught fire – the smell of smoke overtook her senses only for a moment before being accompanied by more unpleasant others.

Decaying flesh, urine, burnt meat. Sweat and fear. And something so rotted that made everything else smell good enough in comparison. That was when Anya caught a glimpse of the motive for such riot. A corpse was burning on the flames which had quickly taken over an entire building – but many weren't. Their skin was pale and dry, free of any life, tainted by death and darkness. Gaunt faces and skeletal bodies, all of which had died a long time ago. She had read about them.

Inferi.

Some people apparated, but then, nobody else did, and judging by the terrified yells, they couldn't anymore. Anya grasped her wand tightly, although she had no idea what to do with it. Yes, she knew what a inferius looked like; yes, she had read about them; no, she had no idea how to fight one…that was a lie, actually, she knew, and had witnessed just now, that fire affected them.

What useful knowledge to use when you were a quarter away from one, and a crowd stood between you and it.

Had the Aurors been warned? She could see none from there. How great were the chances nobody had called them? And Hogwarts? If only she managed to get away, the magical police could be called along with Hit Wizards. Despite assuming that Anti-Apparation wards were up, Anya tried to get away with the ability she had discovered even before having a wand, only to feel something twisting in her stomach before nearly keeling over onto the ground.

Not an option, then. She could fly, though.

No, she couldn't. If someone caught a second-year student performing a kind of magic considered impossible... the consequences would be worse than being maimed by dead bodies. Anya looked upon her escort and blackmailer and froze. His face was the portrait of panic and fear, his entirely body was shivering and he had stopped blinking. Anya couldn't even see his chest rising, which was worrying.

But there was something in him that also made her feel unease. Meier was too panicked – he was supposed to have already experienced something like that. She reasoned that the whole attack on the Durmstrang ships could have been traumatic, but it was entirely too fitting with the image Anya had formed on her head of the Austrian wizard. A two-faced blackmailer needed a fatal fail, something to make him weak, and a trauma was the perfect scapegoat.

And then she caught it, a glint of pleasure in Meier's eyes when the Muggle-born employee of Dervish and Banges was dragged into the sea of inferi by one of the corpses. He was enjoying the view, for goodness's sake! Nausea took over her when she saw one of the creatures breaking the Muggle-born's neck and she reached the realisation any Slytherin would.

She had to get away.

Not paying much attention to the arm which hold her, Anya freed herself and pushed Meier away. If he liked such thing, he could stay and watch it – she didn't care, actually, it would be better if he died with her secrets unspoken. She stalked to the insides of the Post Office, taking a look at witch who was kneeling on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Anya asked when she noticed Natalie was chanting something. Suddenly, a wall of black flames was raised in the front of the shop, in a way they still could see what was happening.

"Young miss." She greeted. "This will hold the creatures for a while, as I'm not sure sending these guys away will do any good." The woman motioned to the owls. "The creatures cannot be alone."

"You have Floo Connection?"

"Rá. They blocked every way out. Except broomsticks, people raided Spinwitches." She looked out the window, where someone flying on a broom tried to avoid spells, until a green one connected and the corpse fell from the sky. Apparently, it had been wise of Anya to not try to fly away.

The owls were screeching high, but Anya ignored them in order to listen to the screech of outside. The inferi were slowly walking up the street, slowed down by wizards and witches who had got the message on using fire to repel them. The students were another thing.

Anya watched as a Durmstrang girl which should be eleven or something was pushed behind by desperate upperclassmen. No, no, no. She couldn't let them die. It was something that Meier would do – and granted, Tom would as well. But she was better than that. She didn't know the spells, but she had power after all – much more than most magicals.

"Which spell?" She asked Natalie, who was too busy giving her owls attention – apparently not caring if people were dying at her doorway. Nice.

The woman gave her a dubious look. "How old are you? This is a N.E.W.T level spell, dear, you won't be able to perform it."

"I'm twelve, and I assure you I will. I don't really think that a witch who works as an shopkeeper is magic-powerful enough to cast things I can't."

"I'm a crazy pyromaniac. The Unspeakable Department fired me after I put fire in everything." She smiled at her. "So I was left with my dears." Well, that explained the nonchalance of the woman, at least. Anya was beginning to understand that the Wizarding World was the home of an entirely bonkers population.

"There are people dying there! If you refuse to help them, let me. I will be fine. You don't care about me either way."

"True. Tenebre flammare." Natalie chanted, waving her wand as if she was drawing a square and suddenly conjuring a square of dark flames. She shoved a potion in her direction. "Ice Potion, drink it before passing through the walls. The spell has the same variations of the wand-lightning charm. Don't be killed by the corpses, if you are going to die – die flying."

The woman was completely mad. Luckily, Anya was incredibly used to asylum patients. She shoved the potion down her throat, feeling the sensation of ice flooding her body as it settled down. She shivered and passed through the wall of fire unscathed, which was a good result. Immediately, she was also shoved by a fifth-year; which was a bad result.

Then she noticed the inferius which had just grabbed a small girl. "Carpe Retractum! Incendio!" The magical rope burned around the corpse, transforming it in ashes quickly. The girl looked at her, running in her direction with tears staining her face. Two other children, who couldn't be more than a year younger than Anya as they all wore Durmstrang uniforms, ran in her direction as well.

"Ok?" Anya asked, in a language all of them possibly understood.

"Astrid! Sie nahmen Astrid!" The girl cried out. "Sie…sie…"

"Sie ist tot." Anya told her imperiously that her friend was probably dead. "Hinter mir!" She ordered, and the children got behind her quickly. "Incendio." She showed them the spell, and demonstrated how it burned a near inferius. It wasn't the best environment to teach, but it would have to do.

Suddenly, she caught the sight of a known face helping Spencer get up. A spell went flying in their direction and Anya didn't think twice before casting: "Protego horribilis!" The curse rebounded and gashes cuts were opened in the body of a inferius, which didn't even bleed.

"Cedrella!" She called the snake student, who ran in her direction with a redhead male Anya recognised as a sixth-year, and the two Ravenclaws they had been saving from inferi.

"Nastya! What are you doing here?!"

"Latter. Get as many people as you can inside a house, take these children." She instructed, targeting a inferius with bluebell flames, which only burned the target and kept unharmed the elder man which was being attacked by the creature.

"The Floo isn't working!" The redhead informed her.

"Just do it!" She shouted, diving to avoid a curse. Where were the attackers who were helping the inferi? Or maybe there was none and those were only lost targets? No. No need for targeting people in the air.

A scream caught her attention and Anya turned to see as a inferius dilacerated the body of someone she had known. Wayne Mason-Buckley. His deep blue eyes caught hers for a moment and she could only see pain. And then there was nothing. Those pale hands of the creatures grabbed all entrances of him and he was quickly dragged inside the crowd of inferi, the last fibres of the viola player's existence vanishing there.

"Segítség!" Someone yelled, and there was Stefánia Mordon. Anya casted the bluebell flames again, giving enough time for the girl defended herself pushing the inferius away. "Get to the houses!"

The girl seemed to understand, because she quickly caught some people wrists and dragged them to insides one of the buildings.

Anya turned to face the big mass of dead bodies that was almost surrounding her. She took three children, too young to be students, and started to run and push those forwards, until they got the idea and continued on their own. She did as well, a bit of impulse by her flying abilities, true. If she flew near the ground, it was almost unnoticeable.

But it wasn't fast enough – that was proved true when she felt a claw closing around her ankle. She stumbled and her wand rolled out of her hand. The nails ripped skin easily, burning in an unbearable manner. Terror took her mind when she remembered the image of Buckley's death moments ago, and she tried to kick herself free.

More hands closed around her legs and she felt tears shimmering down her eyes. No, she couldn't like that! She was to die flying!

"Incendio!" The inferi attacking her burned, and Anya looked over her shoulder to see Fanni nodding at her, her arms grabbing the young children Anya had saved.

Her orders were being passed mouth from mouth, apparently, as she could see many people motioning others to the inside the buildings. Stefánia was at Gladrags Wizardwear, in a smaller street. They would be fine, Anya decided; the inferi were only attacking the main street – she could spell other buildings before that one, so far away.

She began to cast, they didn't have more time to waste leaving the buildings unprotected. "Tenebre flammare!" She shouted, and the wall of flames appeared in front of the Three Broomsticks. "Incendio!" She pointed to the inferius which had dared to approach her. "Tenebre flammare! Incendio! Tenebre flammare! Incendio! Frigida flamare! Tenebre flammare!"

The inferi avoided the spelled buildings every time. It was an extremely effective spell. As she ran up the street, fewer and fewer houses were targets – which only made them more fast, as they have less people they were able to kill – and her core slowly drained from adrenaline to magic.

"Get inside, Nastya! You are barely standing!" A voice ordered her and she glanced at Euphemia Cadogan, whose hands were gripping her wrist tightly; her boyfriend, Lawrence, fighting with the inferi who had been following her – together with the redhead Anya had seen Cedrella with.

"I'm fine! I only have to get to Fanni, it's the last one!"

Euphemia Cadogan took a look around the street – all buildings were either destroyed or spelt against inferi, it didn't look as if there was any remaining one to spell. "Where is that?!"

"Down the street, in an alley. Gladrags." Anya explained, and Euphemia easily located the shop she had been so many times in. She could only see the roof of it, actually, but that was enough.

It was surrounded by a sea of inferi, the last remaining combatants conjuring fire after fire against the animated corpses. Anya must have followed her eyes, because at the next moment her breath caught on her throat. "Merlin, no." She mumbled weakly.

But there was nothing to be done, and quickly the roof of the store was flooded by inferi, decimating bodies of children. Euphemia could only watch when Anya summoned fiendfyre and sent a giant snake of cursed fire in the sea of inferi.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A curiosity: I didn't plan for this attack to happen when I first thought of the second year -- but Grindelwald planned it so it happened. So it isn't my fault.
> 
> By the way, I would be really be overjoyed with bookmarks, comments, kudos!


	16. Sixteenth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the aftermath, in which we get to see Anya acting a bit like Harry. I have to thank my beta, as always: lil'hawkeye3, and the Weasleys.

 

The Aurors were too late. Actually, they had arrived earlier – but beyond the anti-apparation spells where the fight had taken place. When the battle was finally ended, the teachers and the Aurors had walked through the spells only to find half of the village burnt, walls of fire protecting people from the surviving inferi. With the help of the Headmaster and his Deputy the Aurors had burnt the remaining inferi and isolated the cursed fire a second year had created and lost her hold upon.

Anya had watched as her basilisk of fiendfyre was diminished into a grass snake and imprisoned in a water jail with unfocused eyes. It was her fault, she knew – she should have aided Fanni, she should have controlled her spell…she was supposed to foresee events like that.

They hadn't won. Few wizards were captured, and those had killed themselves quickly enough to leave only one information – they were Grindelwald's men, members of the Heilig Paladine.

Thirty-one students had lost their lives on the raid. Seventeen from Durmstrang, mostly children of eleven or twelve; fourteen students from Hogwarts. Another thirty-eight residents and seven aurors had been murdered, mothers had lost their sons, husbands would never see their wifes, brothers and sisters had to mourn their siblings.

Seventy-six corpses.

Among those, a Stefánia Mordor, who had been following Anya's orders. Someone she had left behind because she was supposedly safe. Someone she was supposed to save. Someone who had saved her, and she had turned her back to – because she had judged unnecessary.

People were talking. They didn't talk about her errors that day though. Nobody had mentioned the Hungarian witch's name to her, nobody had inquired how she had cast such a dark curse as fiendfyre. They were thanking her, praising her for her for being proactive. At the second page of the Evening Prophet, a photography of her sitting on a fountain in the main place of the village, together with the other survivors, had been published. At the headline of the article were the words:

The Girl-Who-Protected.

They were calling her Hestia, in honour of the goddess of the hearth and protector of homes. Just because she had burnt everything and kept people inside buildings.

When Tom had heard that his partner had been in the raid of Hogsemeade, he had almost recreated a version of the raid himself. He had refused to speak with her; the reckless tomboy who had injured herself to save some useless people – the witch who worked at the Post Office had explained it all to the reporters. How an emerald-eyed girl had selflessly endangered herself to save people, how she had first entered in the office accompanied by a boy, who wasn't with her in the second entrance. A boy! Anya had gone to Hogsmeade with a boy!

Tom had spent the dinner seething, he had ignored most of the headmasters' speeches as well. But Dorea had convinced him that he ought to visit his fiancée in the Hospital Wing. Because of her annoying pestering, he was there now.

Anya had been isolated. Her state, according to the healer apprentice, was physically healthy and her injuries weren't deep – but her mind was frozen and unresponsive. He slid the door open, looking beyond the entrance to bed in which she was sat. Her hair had been burnt in its tips, her eyes were vague and her skin, pale. He could understand why Pomfrey had defined her as unresponsive – her eyes followed his movements around the room, but there was no sign of recognition in her expression. She looked as if she was barely existing.

She looked fragile there – her tiny body lost in the middle of the soft, silky sheets of the bed, wearing only a simple but elegant nightgown. The bruise on her jaw highlighted the porcelain-colour of her skin, and a scar cut her lip in a half. She still had to allow the matron to heal it. It was a pitiful sight that made something tighten on his chest. His Anya wasn't that weak…she was powerful…his equal.

"Anya." He called.

Blink.

Blink.

Her eyes stared his; her face still frozen. Well, that couldn't be. He refused to accept a weak doll back; her expression wasn't even refined like this. In no way he would lose her to a damned raid. She wasn't weak, and neither was he!

Tom slapped her face. Hard.

Blink.

She looked at him, again – no sign outrage, shock or even pain.

Blink.

"Well, that's it then? You sneak outside the castle to meet a boy, like some common goblin, a damned whore, and then you forget your whole life over a raid? That's it?!" He shrieked.

Blink.

She continued to eye him, nothing written on her beautiful orbs.

Blink.

Tom lifted her chin, holding it with a crushing strength that was far from gentle. Their faces were close, her warmth breath caressing his skin. Their eyes met again, those lashes of her entangling themselves.

Blink. No response.

"You are pathetic." He growled between gritted teeth, freeing her chin. Her head sagged lifelessly on her shoulders, as if she was only a rag-doll. Tom stood up, he wouldn't stick around to watch that spectacle. The witch in front of him didn't have any power, she wasn't the girl he knew. His Anya was uncaring, harsh, fierce and cold-hearted; she wasn't that Hufflepuffish thing in front of him, mourning for some deaths of people she barely knew.

Blink.

"Answer me!" He demanded, jumping on her body again – holding her against the headboard by her neck. "Dammit!" He pressed more, knowing that he would have his reaction there. Sometimes, Anya could be slow, but she never gave up – she would never allow herself to be killed by choking. She would never allow him to kill someone, much less around so many people.

Their eyes met again, and her lids flicked ephemerally. Another blink. She didn't try to worm her way out, she didn't move – even though he could see the colour leaving her face and her lips parted in an attempt to capture some air. He released her, banging her head against the mattress and stumbling backwards.

That kind of behaviour was unforgiveable. They needed to train – now more than ever, since his partner's face was going to be splayed across every wizarding newspaper (which would happen, he was almost sure; they had even nicknamed her in the few hours they had). The act was both welcome and unwelcomed, as it was a nice propaganda for them, and it would improve their reputation…but also meant that they had declared their side in the war. It was improbable that they would be affected much by it – they were second-years, in the name of Merlin, but if they found themselves in cross-fire, it was obvious what the combatants would think.

The authorities had no idea how Grindelwald had managed to organise a raid on Scotland, when he had kept his attacks to locations nearer Germany until then. They didn't know his motives either, but it was an obvious statement – he had enough power to attack them. He had brought up an army of dead upon them.

And Tom needed Anya to snap out her daze and get her shit together. Dream Manipulation would be perfect to induce her thinking into something more workable, however, he wasn't sure how it would affect her visions – and he definitely didn't want to take so long. Remembering the plain black book he had been using in his research over free-will domination at the beginning of the term, Tom summoned his schoolbag and went through it.

He hadn't developed more research on the matter, being a bit more interested in other curses and rituals – and in his ancestors. His search into the latter had proven to be infertile, but he was still trying. There was something about the Heirs of Slytherin and a hidden chamber in the school which sounded promising. If his ancestors had studied there and found said chamber – maybe they had left registers behind?

Frustrated, he dropped his bag on the ground. His book was nowhere. Great. There was something very unsettling in the thought of somebody finding such book. Anya had told him before that the Hufflepuffs knew the location of the kitchens, where the house-elves could be usually found – and that they were also those who cleaned their rooms. He considered himself capable of charming, or blackmailing, a badger in order to reveal their secrets. Maybe he could use those abilities...

Unless the house-elves reported to the headmaster, or even teachers in general. Books on the dark arts wouldn't make a good-impression on adults. Tom sighed. There were the ghosts, of course, but they were the worst seekers in the world – completely unanchored to the material world as they were, most proved to be unable to even find their corpses or graves to haunt. Hence, the ghost villages and castles – to where all lost ghosts went for several reasons.

The Library's doors were closed, yet unlocked. It wasn't surprising to find it empty – nobody had left the Great Hall, except to visit some in the hospital wing. Mourning was apparently an activity to be done together. Tom saw no reason in it. Yes, the loss of magical blood could be sad, however it was far from life-changing.

They had called four muggle couples to the school, for goodness's sake! Only because their dear Mudblood children had been finally ridden off. Annoying, indeed. Those moping ugly adults in a show of repressible behaviour.

Tom wondered how would have his parents would have behaved if they had raised him. Well, there would be no need to come, as he was fairly sure he would have done well in a battle like that – and wouldn't leave his well-being as another's responsibility.

He had a permission note to check out books from the Restricted Section since his first days in the Slug Club, an achievement easily gained when he got in his Head of House's good-graces. Nevertheless, he was always very careful when sneaking inside that area, as constant visits there would raise suspicions. That night, however, he didn't bother with these worries; nobody was there – he was pretty sure of it.

"Noceo." A voice echoed through the library. Tom stiffened, recognising the injuring curse. Something screeched, in an inhuman voice. He took his wand out of its holster, approaching the source of the sound.

"Noceo."

"Protego horribilis." Tom whispered, but the spell had never targeted him, and a rat screeched among the corpses of its brothers, dying quickly. The caster of the curse turned around to see his discoverer, a malicious grin at his face.

Tom raised his eyebrows at him. The boy was tall, but he still could recognise him as a first-year Slytherin. His skin was an unhealthy pale complexion, and his hair was white blonde – eyes charcoal stared his indigo ones, gaunt features strange at the soft light of a candle. Then, Tom noticed the leather notebook at the younger wizard's hands. "Archie Pyrites. The notebook is mine."

"Tom Riddle. It's Argo, actually."

"Like the ship and it's sailors." Tom commented, holding his hand up to retrieve his belonging.

"Indeed. How can I be sure this is yours?"

"You can't. But I can assure people I saw you practicing the injuring curse. Brutus Burke was sentenced five years in Azkaban for using it on muggles. I don't really think any blood-traitor would go out of their way to defend some damned rats; but I'm not sure Dippet will think the other students are safe around some torturer. Even more one foolish enough to practice in the library."

Pyrites handed the notebook in an obvious picture of resignation. "Where should I practice, then?"

"There is tower here characterised by its abundance of rodents. Most students know it as the Dark Tower…"

[][][][][][][][]

The sound of a pencil brushing against paper was all Anya could hear as she left her slumber. The witch opened her emerald-eyes to see an olive-skinned girl crouched over a sketching notebook. The short-haired looked over her work and widened her eyes when she noticed the bed-ridden girl wakefulness.

"Laws." She called, her voice nothing more than a soft sigh. "How are Euphemia and Lawrence?"

"Poppy healed Euphie quickly the night before. Lawie will have a scar for the rest of his life, but he will be alright." The Ravenclaw said, putting her notebook aside, revealing the drawing of a lady floating in a pond. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." She said noticing that the lady on the sketch had her features. "'And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, that suck'd the honey of his music vows, now see that noble and most sovereign reason.'" Anya quoted. "Oh, how well you know me, Laws. Lovesick with fire, reaper of death, opheliac, apparently."

Laws blushed. "Oh, I didn't mean you were Ophelia! It's just that most artists are supposed to portray Ophelia once in their lives; and you looked so beautiful there."

"Perhaps it's that you have done it unconsciously, but you can see the similarities. I feel as if I'm delving into madness, Laws." The Ravenclaw moved to deny her, but Anya didn't allow her. "No. I have set on fire a whole quarter! I let people die following my orders! And I'm trying to justify my acts by saying that they shouldn't have followed orders of a twelve years old girl. It's disgusting. Even more because when I first saw them following my lead, I was satisfied!" She felt tears of disgust wetting her cheeks now, but she didn't bother to wipe them.

"No, Nastya, you are not like these! You are a good person, you are friendly and unprejudiced – you care." Laws told her. "It's normal to have those thoughts; it only means you are human. But that's alright, you did your best to save people there. Euphie told me what happened there." Laws grabbed her hands in a gentle manner. "If you had done better, I would think you were a goddess."

Anya gave the other girl a scornful laughter. "You are blind to my wrongdoings, Laws. Love is blind, and you are unable to see because of our friendship, dear." The emerald-eyed witch dropped her hands besides her hips, glancing around the room, the walls preventing her from seeing the other students in the Hospital Wing.

If she had looked over at her friend, she would have seen a frown marring the expressions of Laws, instead, her eyes locked on the enamelled vase at the nightstand, which supported a bouquet of irises, chrysanthemums, bell of Ireland and white heather, fairy wings – beautiful magical flowers which expelled the sweetest aromas, which healing properties. "Flowers?"

"Harfang just left." Laws explained coldly. Anya nodded, easily, and the time stretched slowly, some minutes of silence where both of them kept doing nothing – checking their nails or whatever. Anya caressed the scorched ends of her hair. It used to be so long – reaching under her arse in a silky way. She supposed she could grow it again with her will; she had always been able to modify her hair and nails. Or perhaps she should cut the tips and be done with it, a hair reaching her waist was far from being short.

"Are you really that idiotic?" Her Ravenclaw companion's voice interrupted her musings, and Anya identified the angry tone in the other's voice. "I'm not some foolish, easy-to-manipulate girl. I have honour, and I would never turn a blind eye to immoral actions. I'm not worthless, Anastasia, and I wouldn't be your friend if you were."

"I am not saying you are, Laws. But you want to see my best side, because the other is too disturbing. I may have the good things you see in me, but they aren't my only traits." Anya argued back.

"Do not insult me with condescension!" The Cadogan witch yelled. "I'm better than that, and you are better than this self-criticising persona unable to forgive herself for things she isn't to be blamed." Anya opened her mouth to object, but she was harshly cut by her friend. "You know what? I'm leaving. I'll tell Poppy you are awake, but only come down the lunch when you get to your senses again."

And with those words as farewell, she grabbed her sketchbook and left, leaving the snake witch in a room filled by flowers, chocoballs and chocolate wands (her favourites), and a senet game which, she was pretty sure, was property of Dorea.

Grabbing her wand at the nightstand, Anya conjured a pair of scissors out of thin air.

[][][][][][][][]

When Harfang Longbottom had heard the news of the attack on Hogsmeade the day before, he had panicked for a brief moment. You see, he considered four the number of most important women in his life. His mother, Edessa Longbottom née Strougler; his baby half-sister, Enid; his fiancée, Callidora Black; and his best female friend, Anastasia Donbyre. His mother was long dead, and his sister was obviously safe in the Longbottom Manor, in Cardiff. And Nastya was, as first-year, safe inside the castle walls. His reason of worry was his fiancée, who took great liking in roaming around the village near the school.

But this worry on lasted for few minutes, as he quickly found her together with her cousins Lucretia Black and Igraine Yaxley – crushing their hands in a deathly grip because Cedrella were in a date with Caesar Malfoy at Hogsmeade. Harfang had enough empathy to worry over her sister as well, although his friendship with her twin was strained long ago.

However, such preoccupation was soon substituted by a much more truthful when Dorea Black banged the doors of the Great Hall open and announced that Nastya wasn't at the school – she had just been informed by the professors. Following her was a very irate Tom Riddle, who had snapped at everybody who dared to approach him while the battle didn't end.

Harfang, however, shared the same stance of him at those moments. Their friendship was short, as they have met only the year before, but since the moment he had seen her, the Gryffindor had known they shared a rather similar soul. She was his soulmate, his twin sister in everything but blood. It didn't matter to him if they never each other again, as long as she lived and was happy, they would be connected.

When Anya had been carried inside the castle, Harfang had hugged her fiercely, but her arms had hung loosely around him. Her eyes were empty, and her clothes and hair burnt. Later, tales of what she had done in the village would travel the castle and reach the evening newspaper.

He had seen her only once since that, in the morning, before Callidora carried him away to fuss over her sister. She had been sleeping soundly, a graceful picture that couldn't be compared to the girl he had seen the day before.

Now at the lunch, he saw her again. The doors were opened a bit, allowing a witch with jaw-length bobbed raven hair to walk in. Her left hand held a chocoball, or the remnants of one, while her tongue licked strawberry mousse and clotted cream of her hands. She wore pine green velvet robes with bishop sleeves and cowl neckline. The eyes of the whole crestfallen student body followed her figure with something akin to admiration.

Her eyes were very similar to the eyes of the night before, the heir of Longbottom noted. Not that her stance could reveal anything about it. The way she licked her hands could be classified as coquetry – and with her shorter hair, most would find difficulty in classifying her as a twelve years old girl. Oh, she still had a small stature, and her body was far from being curvy or well-developed. But her posture was so stiff, her expression so mature. She looked as if she had aged more years since the morning of the day before than she had aged since he had first met her.

Burdened. Anya looked burdened.

Harfang frowned.

Dorea gestured to Anya sit at her side, and the girl promptly did, resting her head on her friend's shoulder and hugging the girl's torso with an arm. The hazel eyed witch reached for the other's hair, entangling her fingers on the short locks. In front of her, Brianna offered her a cup of hibiscus tea with a spoon of honey to her.

"Did you know you are famous now, Nastya?" Brianna commented as the girl took a sip of the tea.

Dorea raised her eyebrows to the blond girl. Really? Half of the Great Hall was mourning, and even if no one on their house had been killed – mostly because they were cowards which ran away at the first signal of danger and partially because they were the house in which the older-years stopped frequenting the village except for some occasions more – there was some kind of code which dictated you weren't supposed to chirp and gush in a day of mourning. "Brianna!" She chided.

"Yes, I know, Brianna." Anya asserted. Her eyes roamed around the chamber and she sighed. "The Great Hall is so empty." She observed. "Where is Arawn? And the rest of the boys?" Aside Rosier and Avery, all boys of their year weren't there. And neither were Nott, Mulciber and Rowle of the third-year, or Pyrites, Alphie and Nott of the first-year.

"They haven't appeared still." Clemency Rowle reported to her, eyeing the spot beside Dorea, where Mab-Anne sat, jealously. "Brother was saying something about a ritual of initiation at breakfast, though." The blond girl revealed.

"I hope Tom and Ax don't drag Alphie to some sort of perverse practice. Morgana knows that my nephew won't survive it." Dorea ranted. "And we had enough deaths yesterday."

"They are Slytherins, Dora. Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots." Anya intoned, burring her head on the others shoulder.

"Why did Madam Pamsely allowed you to leave the Hospital Wing? You are exhausted, Nastya." Dorea alleged. "I will have a talk with her. Or better, with her apprentice. It was her who let you out, wasn't it? I can guess."

"Hold your hippogriffs, Dora. Poppy is even stricter than Madam Pamsely. I'm fine, I took a Pepper-Up Potion. I'm just dejected about yesterday." Anya dismissed the other's inquires. "Can you pass me the sachertorte?"

"There an explanation to your sudden sweet-tooth?" Brianna questioned. Suddenly, the doors opened again, allowing a horde of wizards in. Leading them, was Tom – flanked by Ragnar and Abraxas.

"They are here." Mab-Anne stated.

The height of thirteen male bodies sitting in the Slytherin table caught the attention of many, as on that day, many were silent. Tom stared at Brianna, motioning for her to make space for him, Abraxas sitting at his side. Ragnar occupied the seat beside Anya, and an albino-boy she recalled as Pyrites sat at the other side of Tom.

Anya raised an eyebrow. It was unusual for Orion to leave his space open to another. But strangely, he was joking with Demetrius Rowle, Justus Nott and Antonin Dolohov.

"So…might I ask where have you been all this morning?" Dorea queried, looking to Abraxas. "You were absent for hours. I have no idea how you plan to explain this to the professors, when they all required we stick around the common rooms and the main halls.

"We had some firsties to welcome, it's a tradition. Father has been telling me that they started doing this since Brutus Malfoy walked around these hallways." Abraxas quipped. "That was 1643, Ragnar, if your history disability is preventing you of rationalising."

Ragnar grimaced, rubbing his neck in frustration. "Thanks, Ax." He replied, coldly. "But the idiodic one is you."

"Are you capable of talking now?" A sharp voice interrupted the conversation going around, drawing everyone's attention to the indigo-eyed wizard sitting in front of Anya, his fists clenched. "Or you will continue to be useless doll?"

The talk around them ceased; Slytherins mindful of the tense atmosphere between the two. Anya shifted her head on Dorea's shoulder to face Tom. "I won't ever be useless, Arawn." She answered. "The beautiful is as useful as the useful."

"The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely. All art is quite useless." He replied, quoting as well. Suddenly, Anya felt the air between Dorea and herself stretching, and in a moment, she was sitting straight.

The witch glared at Tom, because it was obviously his doing. And then, she let her head drop on Ragnar's shoulder with a bang. "Hold me." She muttered a command to him. He chuckled beneath her. "I'm not sure I want to be in Tom's black list, Nastya." The auburn boy whispered.

"You will survive." She mumbled, her gaze turning to the first-year in front of her. "I think we were never properly introduced. Ragnar?"

"Argo, this is Anastasia Donbyre, you are obliged to call her Nastya. Nastya, he is Argo Pyrites, and we have taken to call him Argo." He pronounced in a mocking manner.

"Like the boat and its sailors." Anya commented, making the boy chuckle.

"You and Riddle are the same." He offered as an explanation.

Anya just shrugged, stealing another slice of sachertorte. Around her, the students helped themselves to the soups, roasted meats, pies, breads, puddings, pastas, sausages, fishes, salads and potatoes.

When Anya stood up to make her way to the common room, the Head Girl, Elizabeth Brown, called her and led the girl to the Headmaster's Tower. Whispering the password "Salomé," the Hufflepuff seventh-year motioned to her walk up the staircase. "They are expecting you, I promise."

And they were – Professor Slughorn, Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster Dippet and Headmaster Troldmand, Professor Krum (which, Anya assumed, was the deputy of Durmstrang) and a dark-skinned, bald man who seemed familiar.

"Ms. Donbyre, we want to thank you for your services yesterday." The man, which now she recognised as Leonard Spencer-Moon, enunciated. She looked at him in interest. Now, the newspapers still had to announce that change in power which should have occurred that day, if one were to judge the way his minister robes didn't fit him.

"I did nothing, Minister. But I should congratulate you for your new role; Merlin knows that we need a more proactive ruling in these times." She answered, with a respectful bow in his direction. "I hope you avenge the lives lost the day before, as I couldn't."

"Oh, Ms. Donbyre, but you must recognise the greatness of your actions. If weren't for you, a number even larger of lives would have been lost." Professor Slughorn said. "My dear girl, you mustn't blame yourself for things even adults were unable to prevent."

"Perhaps, although I cannot deny that I've failed." Anya preached. "Nevertheless, I doubt I'm here for this. There is something else you would like to say, sirs?"

"Yes, Ms. Donbyre. May I assume you are aware of the ceremony taking place this evening?" Headmaster Dippet inquired.

Anya was. Dorea had informed her that Headmaster Dippet had announced in his pronunciation the day before that there would be a funeral at the end of the day, not that corpses remained to be buried. A monument to the dead would be raised at the school grounds, and another would be at the village, when it was reconstructed – which would take some time.

"Very well, then. It's our wish that you take part on the ceremony by reading their names." The minister said. "I won't demand such thing of you, even more considering the recent events in which you took part, but as it is, you stand as a pedestal of hope, Ms. Donbyre, and it's my wish that you accept this role." His green eyes pored on hers, steadily. "If I'm ought to be a symbol of justice, let yourself be a symbol of protection – as you acted upon yesterday."

The child's eyes bored into his for several instants, before her head gave a small nod. An excited yelp resounded through the office and Slughorn tottered in her direction, resting his hands on her shoulders. "That's incredible, my dear girl. I can go over the names with you later, if you wish."

"Thank you for the offer, professor, but I know their names." Anya declined gently. "The ceremony is to include all victims or just the students?" She questioned the others.

"Students and under-school-age. It's a memorial to children." Professor Dumbledore disclosed. "We wish to award you a Special Award for Services to the School, Ms. Donbyre."

"Actually, you should have been awarded an Order of Merlin by the Wizengamot, as your actions are very similar to Tilly Toke's in 1932, however you are underage. Despite this, you are to receive an International Order of Merit." Minister Spencer-Moon informed her, watching as she jumped to deny those trophies. "Accept them, Ms. Donbyre. It's the minimum you can do for the Wizarding World. Humility isn't a necessity here."

Anya faced the imposing wizard in front of her. The man was tall and strong, an imposing figure, if not a bit young. He was thirty-eight, if she remembered well, less than most Ministers for Magic had been when they were elected by Wizengamot. "I'm not an excessive humble person, minister. You are ignorant of my other faults, else you would have not this alone. Nothing is more deceitful than an appearance of humility. However, I'm mindful of the greater importance of other things in these times of war, and I don't think it's the right time to an award ceremony." She retorted, in the most defiant tone the minister should have faced since he had come in power.

"At the end of the year, if you insist. Hopefully, this war will have ended then." The man consented.

"Is that a possible predicament?"

"Of course not, Ms. Donbyre."

[][][][][][][]

The waterfall of Hogwarts was a beautiful place to build a memorial. The area was almost forgotten by the world, however it still retained an eternal appearance. A chamber had been carved into the rock long time ago, and in one of its walls, archways overlooked the clearing. The construction had been invaded by moss and vines through the centuries, and now the light of sunset illuminated students, politicians and parents.

The location had been chosen specially for the parents of the six Muggle-borns who had been murdered the day before. They couldn't see the school, but they could see the waterfall just fine. Anya pitied Dumbledore, who had been the bearer of the tragic news to the weeping parents. One of them had been a woman whose husband had recently been killed in the muggle war.

They all watched while the newly-elected Minister for Magic, the Headmasters of both schools and their deputies, and the recently named Hestia of the People performed the ceremony. Each of them read their elegies, and spoke words of lament behind the sculpture of a willow tree of silver. It's leaves held the names of the victims and prayers for their souls in several languages.

The tree was truly magical, its leaves creating a lyrical song when the wind blew amongst them. In those moments, it was almost as if Anya could forget the cries of parents and friends watching her.

The pureblood and half-bloods were more accepting of the fate which had fallen on their children. But Anya could understand how fantastically terrifying things could appear to those without magic – they had sent their children to a place which was supposedly safe, as every muggle parent in the United Kingdom had, but today, they had received the news that their children were killed by the living dead – and that it had been such a brutal death that no corpse remained.

"Adeline Abbot. Eoin Allaway. Zaharina Andonov. Howard Audley. Skender Baris. Ewald Bergfalk. Jacob Colbert. Jasper Dahlsen. Leigh Dagworth. Charlene Draper. Harri Elis. Damjan Gavrilović. Seona Gordon. Logan Hackett. Filip Holus. Johana Holus. Alfred Jelen. Edgar Lavern. Lovro Loncar. Lileas Mac Aohda. Lorcan Mahoney. Niall Mahoney. Wayne Mason-Buckley."

Deep blue eyes swam in her vision. "Nobody knows what a viola is. I like being the one to show them the magnificent sound of it. Even if they don't remember my name, they will remember my music."

"Lavina Max. Stefánia Mordon."

Light-brown hair, and a smile. "All my friends call me Fanni...I hate caramel, but I simply love food."

"Aamu Mustonen. Eleonara Mustonen. Larisa Novak. Viola Ogden. Honoria Osbert. Rionách Payne. Mihaila Pandev. Dawn Putnam. Adolph Rollins. Cadfael Sayer. Eirwen Sayer. Roderick Sangster."

Three children looked at her in relief when she saved them from the inferi. They hugged a Hungarian girl's leg when they felt they had reached safety. They were wrong.

"Charlotta Sörensson. Dagur Tómasson. Haakon Toov. Graeme Tuff. Meredith Vaughn. Edith Warren. This evening we gather in the quiet of this sanctuary to pay our last tribute of respect to these beautiful children. I knew these children, we all knew. We sat with them during meals. We smiled to them in passageways and streets. We shared classes and jokes with them.

"These children, innocent of all charges, were victims of one of the vilest and saddest crimes ever perpetrated against mankind." Anya proclaimed, her voice echoing loudly. "And yet, they died nobly. They died fighting, as warriors. These children showed that strength, that power, is even in smallest bodies, in the youngest souls. May they live forever as true heroes."

Anya breathed loudly. She could see the merpeople swimming up the waterfall, and centaurs bowing at the border of the Forbidden Forest, paying their respects to those young deaths. The witch could hear the sounds of the sad song the selkies sang. She was one of the few people there to understand its words.

_/ The children of lir may fly away, from water to water, but one day they will return to us – and their story will live forever. /_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Harry can go through sex-change, travel in time, and leave fame behind - nevertheless fame will never leave him. 
> 
> If you are wondering, the children of lir is an Irish Legend about children who were turned into swans by their aunt, and forced to spend 300 years on Lough Derravaragh, 300 in the Sea of Moyle and 300 in Irrus Domnann. When they are finally turned back, they are old and die - but live happy on the otherworld. I made them part of the Mermish culture.
> 
> And I'll always appreciate reviews - give me them or I won't update (yes, this is a blackmail, and I'm not kidding...just a bit).


	17. Seventeenth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: lil'hawkeye3

 

Tom Riddle jumped of the train into King's Cross Station, followed by an extensive cortege of students. At his side, the dark-skinned Georgiana Moon smiled to him just after he helped her out the wagon. "Thanks, Tom. I'll meet the girls now, but would you like to have lunch with us later?"

"It'd be my pleasure, Georgie."

"Oh, and bring your cousin, will you? My uncle has been speaking greatly of her; I think he would like to see her again."

"I will," He promised, keeping a frown out of his expression. He wasn't sure why he didn't like the notion. Anya shouldn't know the Minister so well – these things were supposed to be his domain. And the man shouldn't be so interest in Anya. However, many were these days. After she had partially accepted her public role, the press of the most frivolous magazines had taken a liking on her.

She hated the attention dearly.

"Now, before we part our ways on the Diagon Alley, I must review some rules. Gather around, please." Dumbledore announced. "Very well. The alleys are heavily secured, so you have no need of fear today. Nevertheless, it's essential you stick closely to the main streets – Diagon Alley, Horizont Alley and the Carkitt Market. The Hogwarts Express will leave at five o'clock, in where dinner will be served. You must all be present at the time previously schedule for you year, at the Leaky Cauldron. Now, go have fun. Pip pip!"

The crowd slowly dispersed, and Tom turned on his heels to face his companions. "Shall we visit Gringotts?" He invited them, his gaze fixed on the raven-haired witch who had just dragged a sandy-blond boy to their group, her back leaning against Dorea's body.

"As you wish, your Lordship," Ragnar drawled at his side, with a smirk on his face.

"I'll hold it upon you, Lestrange," He countered, as they walked through the barrier of the platform and out of the station.

The day was partially-sunny in London, a rare thing for a day in December such as the 9th, yet incredible fortunate. It was still a bit strange to think how they had reached that arrangement. Everything had started three days before, when the headmaster had announced that a Yule Ball would be held in honour of their visitors – the actual propose of it was rather obvious: to lift the spirits after the raid on Hogsmeade.

Because of that, the students had been brought to London – as any visit to the village had been suspended for reconstruction and ensure protections. Such idea had proved to be surprisingly effective, most students now had their heads on who would be their dance-partner or what should they wear. Many students had also taken the opportunity to meet with their parents – the reason for Tom's excitement mostly, as his friends were included in this group and had rather influential parents.

"Vault 784." Tom demanded, depositing his key on the desk of the goblin. "I wish to withdrawn a hundred Galleons from it."

Speaking with the goblin at his side, Walburga took five hundred Galleons of vault 711, to distribute among the other Blacks – the peers of being the heiress, apparently. Ragnar also took sixty Galleons of his, vault 966; and Dolohov from his, vault 837. Abraxas had no need for that, as he carried a bag which allowed him a large amount of Galleons, as did most of the others. The goblins attendees disappeared behind their desks for a moment, before bags of money landed on their desks.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you." They chanted together.

"Am I the only one who is always a bit freaked out with goblins?" Orion inquired, eyeing the guards eerily as they walked into the street.

Dorea shot her cousin a look which spoke high about her opinion of his comment. "Right. You are, probably." She snarled. "Well, why don't you boys go do your things and leave us girls to ours?"

"I won't let you alone, Dora. My father will kill me if I let girls alone with you." Abraxas argued.

"You make me sound as if I'm some kind of pervert who will jump girls, Ax." Dorea whined. "You know this isn't true – I would only jump Nastya."

The blonde Malfoy gave the look which stated how good such argument was to convince him of leaving them by their own – no good. "We will take Fang." Anya interrupted, motioning to the boy who had just left the bank. "Oh, don't give me this look, Arawn. Fang, Charlie and…Alphie? Would you like to come with us?"

Alphard agreed easily, while Dorea moaned in false pain. Anya completely ignored her friend's protests and linked her arms with the two Gryffindor boys' whom she had just summoned. Brianna entwined hers on Clemency's and Vittoria', while Dorea was left with Mab-Anne and Walburga. Callidora eyed Harfang for a while, but decided to walk away with her sisters.

Tom wasn't extremely satisfied with this arrangement, but he supposed that between Anya and him, they would be able to meet a great number of Lords with the shopping-spree. Besides, while he surely appreciated a well-tailored robe, the thought of watching several witches choosing them wasn't very pleasant for him – at least, an all-male group would be faster and they would soon move to other matters.

One hour and a half later, Tom would have been rethinking his logic. After fifty minutes in Twillfitt and Tattings buying simple garments – such as silk shirts, wool and linen trousers, pointed hats, top hats and bowler hats – they had rushed to Knockturn Alley, for Tom's great satisfaction, only to stop close to its entrance, at Msaw Ætare – a tailor shop where each of them demanded an specific robe to be confectioned.

Tom could actually appreciate the finesse of each vestment, and mainly, the prestige of those who wore those robes. What he didn't enjoy was the time such activity wasted. And the fuss the five assistants made running around the five soapboxes, in which some of them stood to be measured.

In the middle of them, were Abraxas and the tailor, Monsieur Justaucorps, in a fierce discussion about what suited each one of the Slytherins the best. Abraxas, he had learnt, was as vain as peacock and louder than one in his opinions regarding fashion.

"Green is his colour, Armand. No, not so bright." Abraxas informed the tailor, who held a heavy cloth in front of Ragnar. "I like this texture, though. There isn't something more sober?"

"Artichoke, young master? I have a beautiful velveteen, paisley designed. Artichoke, carmine and midnight blue. Splendid." The man offered.

Abraxas beamed as well. "Why didn't you mention it before? Now, the sleeves. Cuffed."

"But, Master Malfoy, the tendencies…" The older wizard protested.

"Suck the tendencies, trumpet sleeves don't suit him. Now, talking about suiting someone…let's get started on my friend Tom here."

"I will hear black." Tom stated.

"But Tom, your indigo eyes would be highlighted by light blue or golden!"

"Then, they can be black. But I will wear black."

"Very well, hanged sleeves to him, Armand, and a fitting cut. The neckline must be high, and the texture…Order Narbonne to weave a dark samite, threaded with silver. Is that acceptable, Your Highness?" Abraxas looked to Tom, mockingly bowing to him.

They had made a habit of those things, and now, he was constantly bowed to, every time he got a little too bossy. None of them comprehended how much the orphan was satisfied by this.

Tom stepped out of the soapbox, and elegantly dressed his tyrian purple (according to a certain blonde snake) outer-robes over his shirt and trousers, leaving it open. "I'm going to take a look around." He announced, taking his homburg hat out of the hatstand. "Shall we meet for lunch?"

"Of course, my father wishes to meet us in the afternoon. Do you know where the White Wyvern is?"

"I do. Up Markus Scarrs." He said, swinging the door open. "Send me the bill later, Monsieur Justaucorps. Don't let young master Malfoy pay it."

Knockturn Alley was, by all means, a dangerous place. Hence, it fitted him just fine, as he was a dangerous wizard. People didn't look twice at him there, as his fighting posture indicated strength and annulled any idea one could have glancing at his rich attire. The fact that the hat hid part of his face also helped, not indicating how young he was.

However, Tom wasn't wandering aimlessly through the street as he had months before; he had two purposes that day. He had overheard Ferbus Burke and Maxwell Goyle once speaking about a little shop in Knockturn Alley, full of the most perverse books you could find. Of course, when he had demonstrated his interest in it, the two seventh-years had been eager to share its location.

The owner of the bookstore had had his property destroyed by some ministry Aurors five years ago, but it was a common hearsay in the alley that the man had managed to save part of his collection. Nobody had ever been able to put their hands in it for these five years, unfortunately, as the man was paranoid with the knowledge they held. But, the students had admitted that some good persuasion should be able to soothe his worries for enough time to take a peek on the books.

Or better, Tom had thought, to steal them.

His thoughts on the bookshop were dragged away when his eyes found the second reason for his stroll. The façade of a store, the words Noggin and Bounce engraved on it.

"Miss Anboar, I believe I have something to order."

][][][][][][][]

"You are the girl from Hogsmeade, aren't you? Anastasia Donbyre." The shop attendee questioned Anya, the eighth time someone said something like that to her – in thirty minutes. The twelve years old witch nodded sadly, because really – how were you supposed to react when you got your fame from the death of others? Like a Dark Lord, perhaps.

"Oh, I cried when I read your speech! Poor dears, poor children!" Madam Freleng, the owner of Boot and Shoemaker for Witches and Wizards confessed, as her spell finished sewing a new pair of slippers, custom made.

Thankfully, Dorea noticed Anya's discomfort and intervened. "I think that's all, Madam Freleng. How much do we owe you?"

"Well, each slipper costs three Galleons and twelve Sickles; and the boots are four Galleons." The woman explained. "But I must give a discount to Hestia and her friends! Three Galleons everything, dears!"

They all paid for their shoes, and then their packages vanished into the purses with extension charms they had bought at Stowe and Packers Magical Bags. Well, the purses had been the Christmas present from Harfang to all of them, when he had noticed he, Charlus and Alphard would be the ones to carry the packages if he did nothing. As it was, all of them were satisfied with their ball purses and the boys weren't carrying any weight.

"We must visit Spindelwrap Wool Shop now!" Clemency announced. "I know a tailor – the best in Britain, descendant of the Delfina Crimp. Nobody knows where, because she lives isolated at Horizont Alley – she isn't open to public, you see – but she is incredible! But we must buy the fabrics of our choice before going there."

Anya muffled her groan on Harfang's shirt. "I hate shopping." She confided lowly to him, making him snigger.

"You are not the only one."

"Why did you give them purses? If they had to feel the weight of their acquirements, they would buy less."

"But they would view more – to be sure of what they wanted." He countered, and she had to agree with his point.

Regardless of her reluctance, Anya found herself being pinned and measured an hour later. She was trying to find a way of amble with the tailed robes she wore, which was pretty difficult. She had asked if the tail could be removed and had also been harshly informed that the tail was essential in ball robes, otherwise, they would be evening robes – more adequate for feasts, banquets, receptions or gala. Which, it seemed, weren't synonyms for balls. Who would have thought?

She was almost killing Brianna, Clemency and Dorea when she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, holding them in the gripping manner only one person used. "Arawn, save me from here." She requested.

"Gladly." He secreted in response, speaking his next words for everyone to hear. "We have a minister awaiting to lunch. Dora, may I return Anya to you after noon?"

"We will eat at the Carkitt Market, Nastya. Meet with us there." Dorea instructed and watched her friend being led out of illuminated house, her periwinkle lacy robes contrasting heavily with the masculine attire of her companion, a wide-brimmed creamy-coloured straw hat on her head – extremely feminine.

Dorea nodded in satisfaction. She always did a good job dressing Anya – she couldn't forgive herself for ignoring the girl's lack of hats for that year and a half. Frankly, didn't people use hats in Austria?

"So, when was I invited to have lunch with the Minister?" Anya questioned the wizard, as they strutted in Diagon Alley direction. "Am I supposed to greet him warmly or will your friend introduce us?"

"There is no need to act as if you don't know him, although I hope you are not that friendly with the minister." He gave her a look. "In times of war, it's not that good to be part of an intimate circle. Georgie sent me an origami bird, we are to meet them at no. 23. There is a small restaurant there which will provide all the privacy the minister requires to have a dinner with his niece and some friends of her."

And indeed, the restaurant should be extremely private, as no. 23 was nothing more than a tiny greenhouse at the side of a bigger one – the second belonged to Noltie's Botanical Novelties, a plant shop. The former had no board, though, and only when they opened the door of it, they were able to see the tree tables in the middle of a garden, and a blackboard announcing the menu. The dark-skinned witch looked up to see the newcomers, but the adult wizard didn't.

"Tom, Ms. Donbyre." Georgiana Moon greeted them with a wave, motioning for them sit down.

"Georgie, Minister Spencer-Moon." Tom intoned, nearing the pair and taking notice of the aurors strategically positioned – circling them. "It's an honour to be invited."

"Don't waste your time with flattery, Mr. Riddle, this is to be an enjoyable lunch." The man said, smiling a little to both of them. "It's good to see you again, Ms. Donbyre, the December airs did well to your spirits."

"You accuse my friend of being overly-formal, minister, yet you stick your own words to fanciness." Anya commented, grinning as she sat on her chair. "Call me Anastasia, both of you, and let's calm our garish souls."

Georgiana giggled at her side. "Call me Georgiana, Anastasia."

The young Slytherin in their group made a face. "I suppose you should use Tom to address me, if that's so."

"He hates his name." Anya explained to the two others. "And hates colloquialisms as well. Oh, I'm already loving this meal!" The two family-members chuckled at her comment, but it was obvious that the minister was a bit uncertain how he should be addressed. "We will call you Mr. Moon, minister. Is that alright?"

The man agreed, and Tom snickered. "We wouldn't want to be accused in excess of informality after all. So, Mr. Moon, is there something you recommend from the menu?"

"Their squid is delicious. But if you want something more British, the pheasant and the salmon are very satisfying as well." The man answered, and they soon ordered their lunches from an extremely old man. It was, Anya had to admit, pretty interesting to watch as the man cut the plants around them, which according to him were mostly spices, and carried bunches of them in basket, to the kitchen at the greenhouse backs.

"So Tom, Georgie has been telling you are a great love advisor. I hope you haven't influenced her to seek for a boyfriend."

"Of course not, I have advised her to stay away from boys until she reaches the age of thirty."

"Unfortunately, she is a bit independent on her choices," Said girl declared. "Don't worry too much, uncle, Hogwarts's options of lovers is narrow. Most are taken, or engaged like Tom."

"You are engaged?"

"With Anya." Tom replied, nodding to her – who just gave him a look of disbelief. Seriously, since when he had accepted that misconception?

"There is no kind of contract signed." She explained, because really, there was the small possibility the minister resolved to take a look on engagement contracts (all submitted to a department of his government) and he would find none with their names in it. "Nevertheless, I wouldn't deny the veracity of it."

"Old traditionalisms, isn't it?" The man assumed. "My mother's family used to be like this, a century ago. But that was before my grandmother married a muggle, of course." The man commented. "Hence, the Spencer – which my older half-brother doesn't have." Anya had to be a bit surprised by the man's openness on the subject, but neither Georgiana nor him seemed much worried about it.

"There is muggle politician, I think. Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill? Any relations?" Tom couldn't help to be a bit curious about the relations between the Minister for Magic and the man who had been Chancellor of the Exchequer, and was now, First Lord of the Admiralty.

"My cousin." The wizard revealed. "He is double my age, but we get along pretty well."

"Well enough to lead the United Kingdom – magical and muggle – through war?" Anya asked bluntly, making Georgiana choke on her lemonade. Tom was thankfully checking his nails, otherwise his reaction would have been similar to the Ravenclaw, and he would have murdered the emerald-eyed witch.

"It's our hope, Anastasia." Leonard Spencer-Moon agreed with a smirk.

"Unfortunately, the muggles have a bureaucracy even more tedious than the wizardkind." Tom drawled, quickly recuperating from the shock at hearing her words. "Well, there is still hope for us all, at least."

"I had a promise with Anastasia. She was the one supposed to provide hope." Mr. Moon joked.

"I will leave that for people of age, Mr. Moon." Anya retorted. "Unless my presence becomes exceedingly necessary."

"Can we return to a conversation which won't give me a heart-attack every moment?" Georgiana begged.

"But Georgie, you are the fiercest speaker I know." Tom extolled.

"I prefer not showing all my fierceness in front of my uncle, Tom. He stills gives me gifts at Christmas." Georgiana answered. "I can't be the grown-up adult in front of him."

"You are really a snake in raven's skin, Georgiana." Anya commented with snicker. "Feel free to wear green, it suits you." The younger witch praised a small notice of the other's jacket-styled robes as well.

The girl smiled at her. "And you could be a raven, Anastasia. Blue is perfect for you." The girl said, at the same moment the elderly waiter placed a plate of bandoffee tart in front of them, and treacle fudges, a French tea set accompanying the dessert. "You must taste the fudges, they are wonderful."

Tom served the tea to all of them, adding a spoon of honey to Anya's, and to cinnamon his. The older wizard preferred his with lemon juice, and his niece, with milk. All of sudden, one of the Aurors approached the minister, whispering into his ear. The two orphans continued to converse with his niece, secretly paying attention to the signals between the other Aurors – as the silencing ward just erected between the official and his ruler didn't englobe them.

"Temnov." Was the word repeated several times.

Both of them recognised the name. Kahlila Temnov, the Russian Czar – a wizard, obviously, as the muggles had finished with their royal family two decades before. The nation lived in an unique situation – in which the wizarding state structure shared very few similarities with its muggle counterpart. Perhaps that could be explained by the fact wizardkind had stabilised their main community in the northwest – the farthest one could be from muggle civilization without leaving the country.

Those wizards had developed fourteen centuries ago weather-adjusting charms, and there they had created one of the darkest regimes the wizarding would hear about. They lived in complete isolation, in castles of ice which reached the sky and further on. Their ruler was a rumoured fearless and unmerciful man. Tom barely contained a shiver. If His Imperial Highness was involved in something, whatever it was, it was big.

"It seems I will have to leave you." The man announced, making Tom snap of his thoughts. "It was nice to meet you, Tom, and to see you again, Anastasia." The man added, shaking both of their hands assuredly, and kissing his niece goodbye.

Anya didn't stick around to watch Tom charm the Ravenclaw. She didn't know exactly how to feel about the girl – truly. The younger witch resented the older a bit, because these last weeks, Tom's days had been dedicated to her, which was weird to someone who had grown used to have his watchful eyes on her back 24/7. Because of that reason as well, the Slytherin welcomed the Georgiana – it was much easier to wander around the school.

Then, she pitied the girl slightly. The witch was intelligent – clever even – and down-to-earth enough to recognise a friendship of benefits; but she was incredible susceptible to manipulation. There were two particular flaws that could be found in any Ravenclaw without fault: pride and desire for recognition. Two characteristics that could be found in at least half of mankind as well, which usually fitted well together. Neither Anya nor Georgiana were safe from them, and Tom knew how to take advantage of it in others.

Anya'd liked to think those weren't in exceed in herself, but she knew the opposite. Nevertheless, she spent a great deal of time controlling them – even more than her partner in crime. Tom was incredible proud. But he didn't need to be recognised. In his opinion, fooling everyone to think less of him would be immensely funny – but it wasn't always useful.

All those thoughts passed through the Slytherin girl's head as she tasted one treacle tart before leaving, paying two Galleons and sixteen Sickles for her meal, and left to Carkitt Market. Tom would take care of his friend – she was the favourite family member of the minister, after all.

][][][][][][][][]

The White Wyvern was an ill-famed place to be in, and that wasn't a surprising consideration – even if one wouldn't think this as a first impression. The walls were covered by panels of red wood, carved in detail. The white marble tables were separated by heavy dark curtains, forming niches. The floor was black stone, with crimson and jade veins. Only a more discerning look would reveal that the panels depicted pictures of ancient dragons burning villages. That what looked like marble was actually bones. That curtains had powerful silencing spells around them. That the red beneath their feet was actually dried blood.

Hence, ill-famed.

When they arrived, a gorgeous woman dressed in a dragon-hide armour motioned to the larger niche, whose curtains were entirely closed. She had startling amber eyes, and behind all of that prettiness, Tom could almost identify a huge wart at the point of her nose. Abraxas was the one who got through the curtains, as it was supposedly his father behind them.

Moments later, a man with pale skin a dark-grey hair opened the fabric barriers, walking past them with a nod. At his ear, Ragnar informed him his name was Doireaan Prince; the Princes were a common pureblood family – Tom knew – almost extinct by a tragic story of infertility, miscarries and death of children. Some even wondered if someone had cursed them.

The two men sitting around the table were different in everything. Octavius Malfoy had a sleek silver blonde hair and wore dark regal robes, a walking stick in his hands – he had a calculating glint on his eyes, and his whole demeanour called for respect. Reimond Lestrange had a darker hair than his son, brunet curls trimming down his face in a luxurious way, the same chiselled of his son – he wore gaudy robes and his whole demeanour was whimsical. At his side, there was a woman of red hair and large downturned eyes, a coy sphere surrounding her: Ambrosia Lestrange née Selwyn. Beside her, a dark-haired woman sat, a pretentious expression her face: Alexia Malfoy née Black.

"Abraxas." The blond man breathed.

"Father, may I introduce you Tom Riddle?"

][][][][][][][][]

"My father, Henry Potter, my mother, Anemone Potter, and my brother, Fleamont." Charlus had introduced them to Anya, when she had found the table with her fellow students at the market, in a restaurant called the Hopping Pot. "Brother will be joining us at Hogwarts next year."

"And then I will be left alone without my two boys around!" The mother had complaint. "Perhaps I should give the two of you a little sister, so you won't abandon me anymore!"

The husband had chuckled then. "You complain, ma chèrrie, but you find the peacefulness in the house quite satisfying."

"Not reason for abandoning me just after lunch!" The woman had retorted.

Now, hours later, as they all sat in one of the cafes of Diagon Alley, Anya was finally able to identify her feelings about the Potter Family – she felt envy. They were all very happy, and it was obvious to her that Charlus was greatly loved by his family. They would miss him if he was gone.

Anya sighed, leaning against Harfang's chest. She had never known how a family felt like, but it was supposedly good. And perhaps, it truly was. Seeing the smile on brunet Gryffindor as he rambled about his brother to them, she could believe in it.

The Slytherin witch had asked if the blonde Gryffindor family would meet with him as he had previously mentioned. Harfang shrugged. "It depends on my mother, mainly."

"You don't resemble Iris Longbottom at all, Harfang." Brianna pointed out. "Except for the blond hair…I never saw a picture of Lord Longbottom, you must be identical."

"I don't have any blood-ties to Iris, Brianna." He explained something that Anya already knew. "My mother died when I was five. Her name was Edessa. I suppose you wouldn't know her, she wasn't much of socialite."

The Longbottoms never came. Anya wondered if the stepmother of her friend didn't miss him greatly and she barely contained her disgust with herself when she felt something pleasant at the thought of a kindred soul. And it was disgusting: good people didn't wish for their friends to be neglected so they could understand them.

That wasn't a shortened version of her wishes, Anya didn't wish her childhood for anyone…but she sorta wished.

That night she dreamt of a mirror, her hand reaching for the hand of a woman, her hair red as the petal of a rose, a man at her side, glasses resting on his nose and some wrinkles of laughter starting to appear in his young skin. Around her, two young men, who were supposed to be older she knew, smiled at her. Neither ghost or truly flesh.

"We are so proud of you."

 **][][][][** **An extra because a certain someone wanted** **][][][][]**

It was a starry night that Tuesday – the coldest night of the season until now. A class of Hufflepuffs and Slytherins shivered in the cold weather and Tom Riddle did his hardest to not snicker at them, his clothes deeply warmed by charms. Any other professor would have cast the same charm he had used on his students, but Madam Black believed in learning from experience, even though Charms weren't her subject to teach. Dorea had once mentioned that her blood-adopted cousin had inherited the Black sadist streak, and he could appreciate that in the woman.

The wind ran through the walls of the Astronomy Tower, while the students answered the question with battering teeth – most of them, at least, from his side Anya rolled her eyes, not a bit bothered by the cold, and neither her disgusting Hufflepuff friends were, warmed by her spells. They hadn't cast those in their Slytherin companions though – they were too proud to ask, and they had enough drive to learn by themselves, or enough money to buy warmed robes. Except Dorea, but she loved to use the excuse of the weather to wear her fur cloaks.

The bells rang twelve times, signalling the midnight – and the end of the class. Madam Black shooed them out quickly – she was supposed to walk them to the dorms, but she had too many lovers to waste her time with children. That Hufflepuff prefect, Lucian Abbot, would lead his housemates to the Badger's Burrow. Meanwhile, the Slytherin prefects trusted them to fend for themselves.

Tom knew that some older students used such liberty to take their time – to stray a little from the path, usually carrying some Galleons to gift Carpe (never Knuts, unless you wished to discover the usefulness of the canes the caretaker keep in his belt). But none of his classmates had tried to do it until now – usually too tired to even think of it. So, it was surprising when he felt someone tug his sleeve, dragging him to one of corridors leading to the Armoury.

"Anya?"

"Yes?" She said, turning on her heels to lean against the wall. She wasn't wearing the school robes, but none of them were, it was midnight. Instead she had opted for a fitting tartan gown, very Scottish of her. She took a cigarette of the chest pocket of his own robes, and settled it on the tip of her lips, no gesture to light it.

"I'm a bit tired to do whatever you have in mind. Release me, this robes are too valuable to be subject to a tug war."

"Really? I only wanted to avoid Ragnar – he has been pestering me to go with him to the ball." She snickered before pouting. "I've heard you are going with Georgie, did you match your robes? I was refusing to go with Ragnar, our robes will clash horribly – but he has spoken of a pair of silver robes he has – it will look good with his hair, don't you think? Perhaps I can convince him."

"Moon? Lestrange? What makes you think you are allowed to go with him?" He snarled.

"I'm allowed to do what I want, Arawn. But then, you might be right, Abraxas must be a much better dance partner. Dorea had obliged him to go with her, but I can match her with someone she will find romance with."

"Malfoy? He is peacock, you will choke on his feathers in the first waltz. And why are you even considering this? You know with whom you will be going."

"I have no idea." The witch answered with a coy smile, a flame on the tip of her wand as the cigarette started to burn. Oh, she wanted him to ask her. Typical. Anya had those things – those urges to assure herself she still could stand up against him. Rather foolish of her, annoying even. But he almost couldn't repress a smile at her banter.

He huffed instead and rolled his eyes. "Would you go with me to the Yule Ball, Anya dear?"

She smiled and moved away her place. "It would be an honour, Tom." A peck on his cheek, and then she skipped past him, a laughter on her lips as she left a puff of smoke behind.

Maybe annoying was a new synonym for endearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And cut! That's it - a nice chapter for you in exchange of reviews... as you can see, demands are accepted.


	18. Eighteenth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta:lil'hawkeye3
> 
> Comemorative update (my birthday, yay!)
> 
> 'this is parseltongue in italic'

 

The girls' room of the Slytherin class of '38 was a mess of silks, shoes, laces, and jewels. Powder puffs floated around, blotting at the faces of ten girls until the puffs judged enough. They had hung several talking mirrors on the walls, whose comments joined the ongoing conversation between the witches.

Gerda Catchlove waved her wand around them, arranging their hairs in several styles with a spell Maeve had discovered. They had managed to slip two ravens and one badger into their dorm, and no less than four firsties.

Anya looked over to her bed where, on top of many pieces of clothing, lay a bronze collar. It resembled a plackart of an armour (although much narrower than one); nonetheless, Stefánia Mordon had bought the ornament that day in Hogsmeade. A friend of hers, Hungarian as well, had brought it to Anya the day before. Apparently, the witch loved antiquities, and her friend had thought fitting to gift their saviour with something of the dead.

The Hogwarts student had tried to refuse it, but when she saw the deeply marred-by-tears face of the Durmstrang girl, she accepted it with a forced smile.

"Is that from the Hungarian girl?" Laws inquired, glancing over her sketchbook, wearing a baby blue gown; a long shawl hung from her neck, trailing down her back.

"It was." She agreed, closing it around her neck while avoiding the locks freed from her loose bun. "I'm the usurper, it seems." She intoned distantly.

"It seems strange on you." Clemency opined.

"Look at me." Dorea commanded, in myrtle-green coloured and fur-sleeved Point de Gaze robes. The older Slytherin took in her friend's robes –off-the-shoulder long sleeves, made of champagne and maroon paduasoy silk. "It's beautiful." She declared. "Now, Mab-Anne, come here."

They were soon ready, faces rouged and mirrors praising their appearances greatly. The young witches paraded down the corridor and headed towards the common room, where their partners expected them, over the light of greenish lamps and chandeliers, sitting on button-tufted sofas. Anya would be escorted by Tom, as expected, and Dorea was paired with Abraxas. Brianna was to go with Dolohov; Zabini with Nott no. 2; Bones with Rosier; Gerda with her brother, Sean. Avery had kindly invited Mab-Anne at Dorea's urge, who had also settled Maeve with Orion – which was meek enough in her opinion. Ragnar would take Clemency and Alphard was to take Laws – a match made in heaven, in Anya's opinion, not that the Ravenclaw shared it.

"I didn't know it was possible for you to look more beautiful." Tom whispered to her as she took his arm, the flatterer. She glanced at him with a sardonic smile.

"You clean up well, I suppose." She took in the small manifests of colour all over his robes, concealed in a manner his owner wouldn't be able to complain. "Abraxas chose them, I assume. He knows what suits you better than you do."

"He also can name every type of needle lace; from 'Point de France' to 'broderie anglaise.'" They snorted.

"Don't tell me. Clemency is fashion-obsessed. Are you aware that the tail is because is a ball? And that if this was a feast we were supposed to wear strapless robes? That short-skirt robes are only allowed in fancy parties? Pointed hats are out fashioned, by the way, we should snicker at everyone we see wearing them."

"Really? Well, I will gladly do so. But I suppose the only way I would know all that would be reading Witch Weekly."

"I fear what is written there." Anya deadpanned. "Maybe they can inform me what Grindelwald is wearing this season. I'm so curious."

"You can blame people for being self-centred, Anya." Tom lectured her. "Doing so will make you be hated by half of the world."

"They simply don't care for the war, Arawn! When people die at their doors."

"They are eleven or twelve, Anya." Tom noted, and she wanted to argue that she wasn't only talking about the student body. "The only thing that matures on people's mind after this age is sexual."

Anya couldn't help – she laughed out loud, just as they reached the entrance of the Great Hall, drawing the attention of many to the beautiful young couple. Inside of the chamber, the house tables had been vanished, and the chamber past the High Table had been opened as a refreshment room. Love seats had been placed against the walls, serving as replacements to the sitting room.

The orchestra was playing a renaissance kind of music, but Tom and her wouldn't play tonight – Professor Trocar had dismissed them, saying that they weren't supposed to play at the light of the events of November. Anya suspected the vampire didn't need one more chord quartet this evening, and he had no use for one whose viola player had been murdered. The cellist eyed the dance floor warily. She had never danced a volta.

"How you are supposed to dance this?" Anya asked the Black scion.

"Little jumps. Like a bunny." Dorea explained, her hands forming paws as if to demonstrate. At her side, Abraxas snorted.

"My dance instructor used to say: "Yes, young Master Malfoy, flying like a splendid swan!" He said, giving little jumps and throwing his legs up.

"It looks more like a stumbling kangaroo." Tom concluded blankly, and all of them laughed. On the dance floor, all the wizards lifted their partners up, spinning with them. "Well, we should try after such class, shouldn't we?"

At the end, they managed to dance those medieval steps rather well, a natural gracefulness associated with a secret ability to fly some inches above the ground without jumping from high places. At first, they did not talk, concentrated over the dance and the tiring steps of it – but slowly they started to exchange hisses, resuming their conversation while attracting some glances from others at the sound of Parseltongue.

Then, Tom exchanged places with Abraxas in an allemande, who then went to dance with Clemency, leaving Ragnar as her partner in foxtrot. Anya danced jazz with Orion and Alphard, and a mazurka with Dolohov and Slughorn, who delivered her again for Tom. Harfang took her aside for a waltz and a gillard, and Charlus danced ragtime with her. The former told her about his baby sister, who had just started to say her first words – the first one being Alge, his younger brother's nickname. The latter rambled the whole time about Quidditch and about Dorea, who had apparently forbidden him from drinking the firewhiskey an upperclassman had found to him – not that the conversation bothered Anya.

Deodor left his cousin in her fellow Gryffindor's hand to dance a polka with Anya, and then Dumbledore danced something with Anya whose name she didn't know – but it was immensely full of jumps. Professor Sankara danced with her a borry, and Professor Trocar danced with her a jazz, leaving her at Tom's arms again for a foxtrot.

 _'I have already bought your birthday present. I hope you have mine.'_ Tom told her.

_'Of course. But my birthday is just in May.'_

_'Whatever. My supposed father will send me something as well?'_

_'I'm not an idiot, Arawn. Surely I must have remembered that, don't you think?'_ She giggled. _'You are acting like an overexcited child, dear king of otherworld.'_

Tom huffed, spinning her at his arms. _'Perhaps this war can help us with our parents.'_ He mumbled. _'Well, I was speaking with Georgie…'_

_'Are you aware that Leonard Spencer-Moon won't be the minister forever, aren't you?'_

_'He will be through the war, which isn't going to end soon.'_

_'If he doesn't get killed, you mean. It was as you said, no use getting entangled too much with politicians when they can lose their popularity so suddenly.'_

_'I pretend to make myself powerful politically before his rule comes to an end.'_

_'You are a second-year. You will have to wait at least to your graduation if you want to have some real political power, Arawn.'_

_'Not if I become the British Youth Representative at Wizengamot.'_ At her raised eyebrows, he elaborated. _'I was researching Dumbledore…he did it when he was a fifth year. Georgie mentioned her uncle was when he entered in his sixth year. Miranda Goshawk was two years ago, but now it's a seventh-year Gryffindor girl named Wilhelmina Scrimgeour.'_

_'Can I see her from here?'_

_'Blond mane, yellowish eyes, elegant but incredible red robes. Laughing merrily with Polaris Tuft.'_ Anya nodded, locating the girl who was surrounded by Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, sitting on a love seat. _'She has good-grades, and is pretty popular, no wonder. I suppose she is worth of associating with – she has a promising future, and I could use her ascension.'_

 _'She is strolling to the refreshment room.'_ Anya announced.

_'Come, I will take you there and start a conversation.'_

Tom guided her to the chamber past the High Table, in which a large fireplace was located opposite the door and portraits stared them down. Tables with tea, coffee, cold tongue, biscuits, cauldron cake, non-melting ice cream, chocoballs, chocolate gateau, treacle and custard tarts, sandwiches, breads, cheeses and many others.

Anya saw their target near a dessert section, eying a sachertorte and ice-cream indecisively. She smiled, freeing herself from Tom as he approached the group Wilhemina had entered with into the chamber – and to whom she would undoubtedly return. But Anya wanted to taste the cake, so she had enough excuse to go to their target directly.

"I would suggest sachertorte if you are in doubt. That's it, if you like apricot jam." Anya said, helping herself with a slice. "But the chocoballs are also incredible."

"I'll always prefer fudges, but I suppose I'll never know if I don't try, will I?" The girl said, smiling and copying the younger witch's actions. Anya nodded, stealing a chocoball with a fork, and holding it in front of the Gryffindor.

"Give it a try. Strawberry mousse and whipped cream." She encouraged the other, who bite it and hummed in pleasure. "Trust my sweet-tooth, I always tell people. I'm Anastasia Donbyre."

"I know of you, you gave a show with Kneeler last year. I'm Wilhelmina Scrimgeour." She introduced herself, tasting the cake she had just served. "This is good."

"Life is good with sugar. Do you accept tea?"

"No, thanks. I'm drinking nettle wine, I left my glass with my friends." She motioned to the large group, in which Tom had easily settled himself into. "Isn't that your partner today, Tom Riddle?"

Anya glanced at him again. "He is." She said when she finished pouring coffee for herself.

Wilhelmina dragged her to the group after that, introducing her to the circles of older Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. To her surprise, Euphemia and Lawrence were great friends of her, as was the Head Girl and Septimus Weasley. Even Alberch Fawley was part of the group, even if most of the group seemed to only tolerate him for his girlfriend Cecily Oaken.

A hand landed over her shoulder and Anya turned on her heels to see an Austrian wizard staring at her. Dominik Meier. She hadn't talked with him since the Hogsmeade's raid, although she had known he had left before things got really bad. He had sent his homework to her, as they had agreed previously, and she had completed it – but they hadn't had a conversation since then.

"Dance with me." He ordered.

"I'm busy." She retorted. He arched his eyebrows, defying her to disobey his commands. Anya gave in quickly when she thought of her lies. He smiled satisfied and steered her to the dance floor, leaving the group behind – and Tom alone to enchant everyone.

Anya was very aware her partner wouldn't be happy.

A waltz started and Meier began to swirl with her around the dance floor. Anya followed his lead silently, gracefully but also robotic. If only she could raise her feet for a longer than normal time while dancing with him. She didn't answer his comments not even once, but her eyes never left his. A statement that the dance was an obligation, and she was only fulfilling it.

Something strange went through her head. A vision, probably, one of those she was unable to remember. The whole thing was strangely familiar.

"Smile or we won't have danced." Meier instructed her in the middle of the waltz. Anya smiled, but it never reached her eyes. Not even when the boy lifted her up in the air, and spun several times – very graceful he was. A great dancer.

The music ended and Meier grabbed her wrist. "Come with me."

They stalked off the Great Hall before any adult could catch them, and Anya was blindly guided to the grand staircase. She was guided across the sets of stairs, jumping from a stairway to another when they started to move, because he simply wasn't in the mood to wait. Not that she had many problems with jumping, she did it all the time, after all she could fly in her most desperate moments.

When the two students reached the left corridor at the seventh floor, Meier meandered in circles, and Anya watched with interest as a door appeared in front of them. The wizard at her side smiled in satisfaction and motioned to the door.

"Frauen first."

"I prefer be the second when I'm entering in an unknown place. Even more when it just appears out of the wall."

"Get in." He commanded, shoving her inside.

Immediately, Anya stumbled to equilibrate herself, only to lose the feel of the ground beneath her feet. A hole, her brain told her at the same time she turned her body and grabbed the lapel of the other's robes. She could fly, mind you, but then, there is a survival instinct inborn in every human who makes them react the most commonly and several times unreasonably.

The Austrian wizard looked at her in surprise and for a moment Anya wondered if he had truly planning to push her inside a hole. Yet that thought left her when he easily took her hands of his lapel.

Anya grabbed the first thing she could again, but this time she wasn't so lucky and the necklace the wizard had been wearing snapped, and she felt.

Obviously, anyone else would have been killed by falling off a forty feet cliff. But she was she, and she didn't even fell, her innate talents taking only ten feet or so to stop her fall and push her up. The emerald eyed witch breathed in relief when her body touched the ground of the corridor – her tentative murder nowhere in sight.

Anya took a look at the room – which was only a giant hoistway – and closed its doors. She had no need to be back here now, but she swore to herself to remember the location. Maybe someday she could use it to fly. The doors vanished as soon as they were closed, but she would remember the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy in his attempt to teach trolls how to dance.

The Slytherin looked at her hands, which still held a pendant. A circle inscribed in equilateral triangle, and a straight line representing the height of the triangle. She knew that symbol. But she didn't knew it either. She had many images of it, a pendant – another one – a book with it written. She had seen it – a clothing, a peddle, a stick, or something like that. She had touched it.

But she had no idea what it was. Still, for some reason, she had to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...a short chapie, but I am back to writing so you should see more of them soon. Here we can see a lot of what Tom plans to be! Accepting reviews 24/7, thanks!


	19. Nineteenth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I am back again, we have some different POVs and much plot development...I plan to have more three chapters until the end of the second year.
> 
> Beta: lil'hawkeye3, thanks for your work!

 

Winter came harshly that year, shedding its white veil all over Scotland and, consequently, the castle of Hogwarts. As the coldest winter the United Kingdom saw since 1895, its heavy snowfalls became constant as the days went, and the year ended and another started.

This time, Tom had a large birthday congregation. Slughorn had gone out of his way to dedicate his New Year party to his favourite student and house-member. Abraxas had gifted him beautiful outer robes, and Ragnar a wand-polishing kit with a box made of mother pearl. Dorea gave him a lunarscope and Orion a globe of the moon. Dolohov had given him a dark curio, which although it was immensely useless, it was still pretty interesting. Brianna had been responsible for his new set of eagle-feather quills, and Rowle a bottle of quintin black.

And then there were Anya's presents. A chest with silk shirts and trousers (from his false father) and a locket, which was actually a small pensieve. She had laughed when he had asked what he was supposed to do with it, and answered: "Put the secrets you cannot share in there and lock them away from the world." Aside this, his favourite would always be a hand of glory, gifted to him by an Argo Pyrites.

"Imperio!" A rat walked on his tiny feet to a ledge before throwing itself from the dark tower. Tom clapped loudly, and the white-haired young wizard beamed at him.

"That was good." The older Slytherin praised. "Although a bit common. Is there nothing more creative?"

Argo stared his mentor, who was playing with a candle and his hand of glory, once in a while making everything dark to his apprentice's eyes. He cast the curse one more, this time obliging one rodent to kill another – mangling with claws and teeth. The approving glint in the other's eyes felt incredibly good.

"Oh, what we have here? A traitor of his own kind?" Tom inquired, floating the rat who had been cursed lazily. "Killing his own peers? Imperio." He cursed, making said rat peel his own skin off, killing itself.

Tom sneered at the pile of mice corpses around them in distaste. "This feels useless." He declared. "I would be dueling with you, but your skills are atrocious. It'd be a waste of time."

"Teach me!" The blonde Slytherin demanded.

"Everything? No. I'm not so benevolent." Tom dazed off, his eyes wandering around the tower, taking the details of the environment they were. He had no wish to share all the knowledge he had gathered these two years with this first-year, not when he had so much to learn, but he could train his reflexes. In no way Pyrites would be more agile than him.

"I have an idea, however. I will throw knives. You dodge them."

[][][][][][][][][][

Meier had been avoiding her during those three weeks after yule. Not that this fact bothered her. Not meeting him allowed her to research more about his pendant, and about his person. He had tried to kill her, after all. She had to find something to use against him.

Unfortunately for Anya, there were quite few books about Austrian families in library, and the professors of Durmstrang weren't very open to the British students. Because of that, she had taken into her hands the harsh task of sneaking inside the Durmstrang towers.

It hadn't been so difficult. Laws was friends with a Belgian girl named Delphine van Tovenaar, and her birthday had been a good occasion to arrange a sleep-over in the Durmstrang dorms. Anya had only needed to suggest doing the same at hers. Not that she was planning to.

It was snowing outside in the middle of night, an impetuous snowstorm knocking against the windows of the library – a dark wooden anthem to high ceilings and old and extremely organised bookcases – Teutonic perfectionism indeed. Although the collection of the ship's library was much smaller than the castle's (and the number of books she could read was even more restricted), the knowledge in it was much more accessible.

Anya held an out-of-the-date copy of Zaubererfamilien: der germanischen Völker published during the German unification, almost seventy years previously. It contained a brief overview of every wizarding family of the nation, the kind of thing Anya had wished the Brits had written so that it could be used for Tom's survey of his own family. Surprisingly (but not really), the Grindewalds were there; a line of ancient pureblood merchants, it informed, one of the first to explore China a thousand of years before. At the time of the book's publication, the sole heir of the family had married a lovely-haired Bavarian girl, Mathilde Hedanreich, whose mother was the sister of- can you imagine who? Bathilda Bagshot.

The Slytherin wondered if the dark wizard who had begun this war was the son of the couple – the only surviving members of the family, according the book.

There was no entry on the Meiers, however. So was Meier a half-blood? Or maybe his family had migrated to the country after the book being written. It was a German surname, no doubt of that – but Germans could be found everywhere in the world even at that time, couldn't they?

She shuttled the book in frustration. What to do now? Maybe there was a book on immigration – certainly those things must be recorded somewhere within public access...

At least she had found out what the symbol on the pendant stood for. The Deathly Hallows were part of an old myth which had permeated every country in Europe, attracting believers everywhere. Apparently, Meier was one of those. That spoke highly about his person. They were interesting, mind you. With a cloak of invisibility like that, she would never need a ghost to watch her back again. But truly, Anya was more curious on the stone – if she was allowed to talk with Fanni once more, she would be glad.

She looked over her pile of self-updating books she had gathered, which were only books used for registering legal matters – deaths, births, marriages, contracts, feuds, alliances. They were all for those in Austria, because if the Meiers had lived there, they had to have bought a house and all. Besides those, packs of journals and gazettes were piled, all also published in Austria. As a native, she was supposed to know what had happened in her country the last fifteen years – at the very least.

Anya found one mention only relating to her search, signed on July 15th, 1933: a lonely line stating that a pureblood witch M.B. Liohtleben had married a muggle, W. F. Meier. Judging by the year, Anya would think the girl was his sister-in-law – but there was no way a Muggle-born would be accepted in Durmstrang... was there? Would he resort to blackmail Anya with her muggle childhood, when he was a Muggle-born himself?

Anya stopped her grin before it could show. She had to discover more, keep it quiet for a while. There were many things that didn't match up at all. She copied both the newspapers she had found and the book with a spell, before placing everything in their places again and hurrying up back to bed. Even if it was still dark like midnight, the actual time was almost seven in the morning. No one could find her there.

She slipped in the bedroom, where the mattresses Delphine's older sister had conjured for them covered the floor. Anya placed her bag on the bed she had shared with Dorea – who was still sleeping soundly. The younger witch chuckled, poking her friend's ribs before sneaking into the bathroom and taking a bath, a red-faced Laws following her inside.

[][][][][][][][][][

Ragnar observed as a small entourage of second-year girls walked back to the castle in their black, high-necked and trumpet-skirted uniforms. He was aware where they had spent the night, of course – Brianna hadn't been able to stop rambling about the nightgown she would wear in front of the Durmstrang students.

The auburn-haired wizard cringed. The girls his age were so shallow – well, most women were. He could only truly relate with Dorea, Clemency and Nastya. The first because she was intrinsically different from the concept of the fairer gender, the second was absolutely shallow, but his first friend, a girl full of innocence who actually could see her own shallowness. The later simply because she was too mature to be ignored, too powerful to be forgotten, and too charismatic to be left alone.

She had, after all, saved several people's lives in November. Ragnar could tell the emerald-eyed witch was uncomfortable with the attention she had received from the wizarding world in these two months. Anyone who had known her a bit could see that.

Otherwise, no other attack had occurred in the Britain Isles, and the muggles were faraway from battling in these grounds. That made the raid on Hogsemeade even more curious as while obviously Grindelwald could reach them, he refused to do so.

Kahila Temnov had joined forces with the United Kingdom and France as well, and now every Auror squad against Grindelwald had its own necromancer. It was interesting to notice that something that would be highly frowned-upon in different circumstances was widely accepted by the population in general these times – the only opposition it met came from some rather prejudiced light families.

Tom had been rather amused by this turn of events, and he was there with them now – he had left Moon and Scrimgeour at least. Now he was parading in a fast-pace to meet up with his fellow Parseltongue, leading their group to the Astronomy Tower for their theory class with the Puffs. Ragnar didn't try to contain his sneer when he caught the eyes of Therese Prewett staring at him.

Mr. Prewett was a friend of Reimond Lestrange, and his father had expressed an interest in marrying Ragnar with one of his friend's daughters – be it Marlene, the eldest daughter or Therese, the youngest. Ragnar hated both of them dearly, even though Marlene was actually friends with Brutus Scrimgeour – Wilhelmina Scrimgeour's brother and someone Tom had insisted they should be friendly with.

Ragnar knew Tom's motives for such friendliness. He had been suspecting him since the first time he had seen his friend escorting Georgiana Moon around the castle, as if that was a normal thing to do. The auburn wizard had questioned the indigo-eyed two weeks ago.

"Parading with older ladies around? I'm sure Nastya doesn't agree with such behaviour." Ragnar had declared one afternoon, while they lazed around the border of the Forbidden Forest, a place they used to practice some spells.

"I don't see why she should mind. I've done nothing with them."

"They are nearest you can get from politicians in Hogwarts, Tom."

"Really?" The younger wizard had answered, in a noncommittal tone which had almost convinced Ragnar his friend didn't know what he was actually doing. "I had no idea. But I'm not a social-climber, Raggie. You have confused me with Mucliber."

"Of course you aren't." Ragnar enjoined. "But you want to get in politics."

"British Youth Representative at Wizengamot, at my fifth year. Fourth, perhaps." Tom confided him, eliciting a gasp from his companion. "Does that shock you, Raggie?"

Ragnar had shaken his head, denying the accusation. No, it didn't really shock him. They were Slytherins, an ambitious folk. As the heir of a lord, Ragnar had a seat in Wizengamot awaiting for the time Reimond chose to retire – or died. Whatever it came first. He knew that this wasn't his friend's reality. His family wasn't part of any aristocracy, although they were supposedly rich. But that didn't matter, because Tom would have wanted, and he wanted a seat. Ragnar thought about his own situation, waiting eagerly for the time his father had an encounter with death, but doing no plans of what would happen when he took his place.

"Why?"

"Because I want change."

"Are you alright?" Abraxas checked out, loading his belongings over their desk.

"More than ever." "Just fine." Were the two answers the blonde wizard received from his bestest friends – male and female. He only laughed merrily, sweeping his arms around the other two's shoulders. Ragnar rubbed his neck in frustration, while Dorea gestured with her fists, sharing the auburn wizard's state of mind.

Dorea was also in a pensieve mood that day, even though they were in the astronomy class – to which she usually would dedicate her entire attention. She had hired a half-blood detective to discover some information about her brother, but the man had disappeared into thin air. Thankfully she hadn't paid him entirely. She wasn't keen to losing fifty Galleons to filth.

Still, the idea of knowing the name of her niece – a niece she could actually like, not Walburga (who she secretly detested) – was firm in her brain. There hadn't been a methamorphmagus in the family since great-great-grandaunt Phoebe Black had died in 1882. Most already considered the trait was extinct. She had never married nor had children, despite the fact that she could change her body to be as attractive as she wished. Her family kept hidden the records of the fact that Lady Phoebe had been in fact a very active spinster – using other identities to enjoy pleasures most women couldn't at her time. Dorea had laughed out loud when she had found those archives, hidden in her brother's office.

Her family had some curse on every generation. The traitor curse. The marriage curse. The squib curse. The spinster curse. The mentally insane curse. Someone was always blasted off every generation for the first three, while the others were quite welcomed. Somebody was always disowned for supporting muggle-rights, Phineas II, Eduardus I, Eridanus IV, Naos XV, Capella XIX being the latest. Then there were ones who married the wrong person like Iola V, Carina XI, Deneb III, Norma I. Someone was born without magic: Marius VIII, Bayer XXI, Apodis II, Doracetia IV; all of them ruining perfectly good names she no longer could use because they were ill omen.

The spinster curse had many motives usually. Sometimes, a member of their family happened to be ugly, like Andromeda III, Alexia VII or Capella XVI had been. Others it was a question of power, or lack of it, like Hamal V, Eridanus II, Lyra VI or her sister Cassiopeia VIII had suffered. Yet, there was those little times when a fiery personality kept the others away, those included Phoebe X, Antares XVIII and Theodora II had.

But it was the insane factor that truly worried her. It hadn't been like this forever. Their family had started in Norway, around the fifth century. The second son of Halfdan Svarti, whose first son would be the first king of Norway, would leave the lands when his brother rose in power. He had been fascinated with the stars, and travelled to Greece in order to read the ancient studies on it. His son and daughter would leave the country, a traveller like his father. Prokyon Blaec – the first named after a constellation – and his wife and sister Chelae. They would have four children: Delphin, Stephanos, Parthena and Megale. And the first insane Black would be born from the union of Stephanos with Megale, Wulfricus Blaec. Yet, it would take almost two-hundred years for another insane Black to appear, Therion Blaec. Now, there were several in every generation.

Cygnus Black XI had killed himself at the age of 22, just after poisoning his wife Ella, whom he had married his fifth year, while she was pregnant with their fourth children, and he had poisoned his six year old son as well. Both of them would die in 1853.

Their third child, who grew up into Aunt Elladora, the crazy woman who had the brilliant idea of beheading house-elves when they got useless. Frankly, Dorea found the tradition disrespectful to the creatures who had long-serviced them; but she would have never revealed that to her aunts – who loved it dearly.

Her great-great-grandaunt Hesper VI killed herself in her insanity, losing control over a necromancy ritual – her death cause being eaten by the corpse of a dragon while cackling. Her aunt Lycoris was the kind of person her brother had always protected her from; the woman wandered around the Black Ancestral Home muttering nonsensical things. At the age of thirty-five, Dorea never understood why none had wanted to marry her. Lycoris was her most beautiful relative, in an androgynous way.

From her generation, Dorea feared that everyone was half-insane, some in more deceiving ways. Walburga and Cygnus were the most, clearly, but she knew Lucretia was worse – only better at diplomacy. Young Aramita, at the age of nine, could easily repeat the same rhyme she had learnt in her cradle. She wanted to hunt muggles, she wished to dominate them. Dorea was aware that Aramita's parents – Lacerta née Black and Godophredus Burke – travels to Germany weren't in order to taste baumkuchen.

Sometimes, Dorea wondered if she would go insane as well.

"Dora, are you feeling well?" The sound of the voice of her cousin ringing across the classroom stirred her up. Lyra Black had been blood-adopted by Dorea's cousin Regulus XI and his partner Gaius Rosier as soon as she had been born in 1917. Dorea wondered if insanity could be passed through blood-adoption, because Lyra wasn't the sanest pea of the pod either – even if she seemed to be. At the age of 23, Lyra changed lovers more than she changed underwear – and she took three rose baths every day, Dorea knew.

"I'm incredibly fine, Lyra. Has everyone left already; how dare they?"

"I told them to leave you behind." Her teacher answered, her silver mane of hair shining brightly against her violet eyes. She was gorgeous in a manly manner, a consequence of being blood-adopted by two men.

"Is that so? Well, I'm sure you are not that worried over my well-being. I may love Astronomy, but this wouldn't be the first time I didn't pay attention to something I knew everything about even before I was able to walk."

"Very well. How is Ms. Donbyre? She left quite an impression after her stunt in Hogsmeade. And you, Orion, Ms. Donbyre and Mr. Riddle are the best of the year in the subject. I quite like them."

"That's rather expected. If Blacks don't do well in Astronomy the ghost of Prokyon Black will haunt they forever. Aside that, Nastya and Tom are the best in everything they do – it's bloody annoying. Teachers shouldn't waste their time trying to stir competition between our year, those two will always occupy the first place together. It's unbelievable." Dorea marvelled. "But, Nastya is fairing as well as possible. She hates the attention, and she blames herself – the foolish girl – but she is breath-taking, in all her helplessness."

"And Mr. Riddle? I take he is the one who is most affected by whatever happens to her?"

"I have no idea how Tom is feeling. But I assure you he doesn't feel guilty over it – and probably nothing else." Dorea related, looking over her cousin. "Why the question?"

"They are powerful, more powerful than you think – when you come of age you will understand. And they have talents…" The woman trailed off, absent-minded. "Our family is interested in them, your brother mainly. You should keep them more informed, Dora. About everything. Pollux won't betray your secrets."

"I'm not sure if I should. They take secrets very seriously."

"If you know secrets, you should confide to your blood, Dora. You can trust us."

"Thanks Merlin Tom and Nastya are distrustful enough to confide none to me, if my duty is to retell them." The young witch replied acidly, skulking into the empty corridor.

"I didn't toke you as the loyal until disownment kind." A voice commented, causing Dorea to stare at Charlus Potter fixatedly. "I would say you are more an 'avoid-any-problems' traitor; you are a Slytherin after all."

"You don't have this image of Nastya, though." Dorea affirmed what they both knew to be true.

"She is an exception." He declared.

"Not whatever Slytherin who gave you the idea we were back-stabbers?" She scoffed.

"It was more than one, actually." He reported.

"It could have been a hundred. It'd still be an equivocate generalisation. To be right, you would have to have talked with all Slytherins since the founders. If seventy percent of them were back-stabbers, then generalisation would be acceptable." She snapped. "Slytherin is the house of fraternity and self-preservation. Anyone with a surviving instinct doesn't betray people at one's first chance…What are you doing here, by the way?"

"Quidditch. I'm helping Sean train to get in next year. I had to speak with him. I saw Nastya and the rest leaving, and she asked me to wait for you. Who am I to deny the Hestia of People?"

"Helping your enemy, huh? I don't know, Potter, surpassing a chaser like you can't be that difficult. Are you sure the pupil won't be better than the master in some weeks?" She laughed when he spluttered in indignation and began to run quickly in the direction of the Transfiguration Tower. Dumbledore didn't like delays, and the mad Gryffindor running angrily behind her was a good incentive to run.

[][][][][][][][][][

Callidora was searching for her two sisters. They were supposed to meet in the Great Foyer in order to search for the abandoned garden Nastya was organising their cousin's birthday in. However none of the two had appeared. She found her youngest sister while she walked down the direction of the Snake's Pit.

Charis was sitting quietly in the Dungeons Hall, making a portrait of her fiancé while he ignored her in exchange for reading a book. Callidora frowned. While she had been friends with Caspar when she was little, the time had passed and with that, he had become more and more emotionless towards everyone.

She peeked over her sister, taking her drawing in sight. Charis was far from being an artisan – she lacked creativity and passion for the activity – but nevertheless, she had put some effort in it and her technique was good enough.

"Ari, while I appreciate your drawing skills, you must hurry up. We promised to show up in time to help with the final arrangements. Nastya and the girls are doing all the work. And the boys won't be able to keep Dora away forever, not from her girl friends."

Charis looked between her fiancé and her sister hesitantly, trying to decide what to do. Her sister took the decision from her, to the younger witch's relief, and grabbed her wrist in the gentle but unyielding way only Callidora Black could.

"I didn't say she could leave." Were Caspar's first words to her that day, in the cold tone.

"You weren't even talking to her." She pointed out. "Besides, I was her sister before she became your fiancé."

And then she rudely stalked out accompanied by a delicate beauty, none too pleased with the treatment of her sister. "You don't have to endure his rudeness, Ari. I may not be able to prevent your marriage, but I promise to always be there if something goes wrong."

"A good wife never bothers her husband with whines." Charis recited in the emotionless tone she had used her whole life.

"You are not his wife yet, Ari. And even when you become, you will never be solely his wife. You are a sister, a daughter, and a friend as well. He isn't going to be the lone person in your life."

"Caspar would never harm me, Ally."

"But I'd never put past him to forget about and leave you starved in a corner because he didn't care to warn the house-elves you are their mistress." Callidora grumbled, catching the sight of Blishwick walking down the Slytherin corridor.

"Have you seen my twin, captain?"

"Elly Black? She was with a Gryffindor."

"Her redhead beau." Isla Crabbe informed her. "You should have a talk with your sister, Ally, before she turns into a muggle-lover. I like you, and because of that I'm warning, but the Malfoys won't forgive if she betrays Master Caesar with a blood-traitor."

"Although I suppose your cousin could marry the heir for their forgiveness." Blishwick pondered over.

"Dorea and Abraxas would kill you if they hear you speaking like that, Blishwick. Near the Lion's Den?"

"Or inside it. Who knows, they could be in a broom cupboard as well." Isla sang, linking her arms with her partner's.

Callidora nodded, avoiding to comment further in the subject. She turned to her sister. "Pick a location."

"I don't like Quidditch."

"The Gryffindor Tower, then." At the end, they found a disheveled Cedrella in a broom closet, clearly panting and blushing to death. Her shirt had buttoned wrongly, the high-neck of it disappearing in a heavy scarf which, at the early Spring, had only one reason to be there – and it wasn't the light breeze.

"Where is he?" Callidora demanded.

"Who?" Her twin asked petulantly. The eldest daughter gave her a pointed look. "I have no idea what are you talking about, dear sister."

Callidora looked at their youngest sister, who was watching the whole thing with something akin to horror. "Leave us." She ordered, and only turned to her twin after casting some silencing charms around them. "This whole room scents heavily of bodily fluids, Cedrella."

The younger witch blushed. "I was touching myself." She lied, knowing her sister also recognised it as a lie. "My mind must remain pure and innocent as well, dear sister? I think you confused sisters."

"You weren't wanking, we both know that."

"Are you denying my happiness, Ally?!" Cedrella lashed out. "You are such a hypocrite. You fight with dad everytime you can over Charis's wedding…but you don't care about the fact I'm to marry a sadist prick, do you? I'm your twin! You were supposed to care more about me than about your own life! But you don't do you? You are going to marry perfect Longbottom, who loves you much more than you will ever be able to. You are cold-hearted, yet you will have the perfect relationship. Why is that me? Why is me who has to suffer? I love Timmy, why do you deny my happiness? It's because you are jealous, aren't you? That I'm the prettiest twin. That I'm marrying the richest and oldest family – you can have him for all that I care, but he doesn't want you. And I don't want him because Timmy is my soulmate." She looked at her in despair.

"I love him, Ally. More than anything. More than life."

Callidora looked at her sister. She knew her sister was truthful when she spoke of love (although not of jealously, Callidora had no wish to marry Malfoys). She had suspected for a while that her sister's boyfriend meant more to her than it was common among those relationships.

Nevertheless, she also knew her father would never undo the contract, and neither would the Malfoy family. Crouch could be intimidated; their family wasn't as powerful as the Blacks, neither in society nor in riches. The House of Malfoy, au contraire, had always been their betters and they would never accept the House of Black snubbing them – even more if it came from a side of the family that wasn't even the principal. It had to be done, and the bride options weren't open to discussion.

"Has he deflowered you?" She questioned harshly.

Cedrella retreated at the tone of her voice, her eyes searching for something akin to compassion at the face which was hers as well. "No. Of course no, Ally, I would never-"

"Make sure he doesn't. A sullied bride is the last thing a Malfoy needs."

"Listen to me! I love Timmy, Ally, I refuse to marry Malfoy."

"Did Weasley ask for your hand in marriage?"

"He is a fifth year-"

"Answer the question."

"No, but he loves me! And he speaks of our future together and I want it, Ally. I dream of our family – our large, extensive and beautiful family."

"But he would have to ask you to this future before it has the opportunity of happening." Callidora stated venomously before sighing. "Whatever. If you have this necessity of playing with Weasley do what you want. But don't let your interactions with him make you forget the fact you are still the fiancée of Caeserus Malfoy. And you will continue to be."

"You don't understand, I don't want to be with him like this. He is not a thing, a phase. I don't want a taste of what it is like to be with him and then be forced away. How can you be so cold-hearted?"

Callidora stared at her, her face blank, void of any emotions. Cedrella shrieked in a fit of rage and hurried past her sister, not caring if there was someone else around to watch them.

The older witch sighed. Not so long ago, the two of them had been inseparable. Twins who could read each other's mind and guess their thoughts every time. Now that bond seemed lost in a sea of fights and compromise. She remembered the time her twin and herself had sworn to protect their baby sister. That oath and many others were lost, she knew. The three of them who had been so united, skating and laughing, were no more.

She opened the door, and Charis looked at her apprehensively. Callidora gave her sister a weak smile and motioned to follow her. It was Dorea's birthday after all.

Charis walked behind her silently and meekly. Callidora wanted to groan. Why were her sisters so difficult? She was only doing that to protect them. To protect their family. Cedrella was a luxurious girl who wouldn't find happiness amongst the muggles the Weasleys lived in and the poverty they were very fond of. Charis was too submissive already, she didn't need someone to lower her confidence even more. She would always retreat until came the time when she didn't exist anymore.

[][][][][][][][][][

Tom walked down to the Owlery, his hands playing with a small pouch, humming softly: the image of cheer to anyone. As he approached the castle the sounds of giggling girls and boasting boys got louder. A trio of Hufflepuffs third-years was making goo-eyes at him. He cringed internally. Pettihart, Bennet and MacHaren were far from being interesting to him.

Nevertheless, even a bunch of Mudbloods and muggle-lovers wouldn't stop his joy that day. Of course, as Mark Twain would say, to get the full value of joy you must have someone to divide it with. And he planned to share this happiness with someone else in less than two weeks. The thought made him smile again.

Even the fact his Anya's dream visions had become more and more incomprehensible wouldn't sour his mood. Oh, he should get her one day and go exploring that cavern under the lake she had told him about. Perhaps a continuous exposition to such dream-like scenery would awake something in her unconscious.

A chuckle caught his attention because it was nearest than all the sounds – much too near to not be directed at him – and he turned around to see an elegant and slightly gangly figure leaning on the wall, a presumptuous expression in face. He had brunet hair, rich long waves, and long jade eyes. Tom obviously recognised the figure. He had seen the Durmstrang student far too many times around Anya.

"Tom Riddle, what a coincidence!"

Tom raised one of his eyebrows. Meeting with someone who lived in the same castle you did was hardly a coincidence. It was rather expected. "Anya spoke of you of course. You must forgive me, I'm Dominik. Dominik Meier."

The Slytherin felt his muscles contorting into something more angry as he heard the Austrian address his partner with such causality – with his nickname to her. "No – it's me you should forgive. I fear she had never ever mentioned you." He emphasized. "But beyond question you have heard of me. We have spent too much time together to be differently."

"Indeed. May I inquire the reason behind such glee? The narratives Anya told of you too never conveyed such happiness."

"Really? You mustn't have spent enough time with her them – I'm sure these will come soon. As it is, the reasons beyond my cheer are nothing more than birthdays. You must know Dorea Black, today is her birthday. I'm only pleased with my choice of present. And of course, soon will be Anya's date of birth – but I must be boring you with old news."

"Undoubtedly not. I'm waiting eagerly for the date." The older boy assured him. "Has your birthday already happened, Anya didn't mention it."

"In the last day of the year I turned thirteen actually." Tom stated. "You had something to speak with me?"

"I was wondering what I should gift her. Do you have any suggestions?" Meier questioned.

"I have none. I carried out all my ideas, I fear." He drawled. "Spoiling one's fiancé is the raison d'être of everyone, obviously."

"By all means. Is that one of them?"

"It is." Tom agreed.

"Very well. It was a pleasure to be introduced to you, Mr. Riddle." Meier said, disappearing in a corner instants latter. Tom barely contained a scowl.

Now, his mood had gone sour.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guesses? Kudos? Bookmarks? Suggestions? Critiscism? Comments overall? Love ya, guys!


	20. Twentieth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, here is an update for you! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you are my joy! Thanks to my beta, lil'hawkeye3, that goes out of her way to read this! To everyone who mentioned how complicated the Black Family Tree seems to be, I decided to post here the partly-canon family tree I created, and no , it is of no relevance to the story.

 

* * *

"So, Ms. Donbyre, how does it feel to be so young, and carry such burden?" Miss Di inquired with false-sympathy.

Anya swore she would kill her Head of House. It was his little revenge on her, she knew- after all, since November of the past year, owls had been chasing him all around the castle, wanting an interview with her. He had finally conceded at the end of April and invited a court of reporters to her birthday celebration – a reception he had insisted on throwing. Now she knew the reason for such insistence. Horace was a vindictive man, she had to admit.

Diane Twine-Berry was a woman out-of-her-time. Literally. She should be over ninety behind all those rejuvenating potions which kept her hair a rich shade of golden and her skin fair and smooth. Regardless of the beauty she might wield, the woman had lost herself in the middle of fashion tendencies, and now she wore those knee-length robes for a younger _wizard_. If the short bob the witch was trying to be androgynous, it was an "out-fashioned option," according Dorea. On top of it all, "Miss Di" was how she ordered her to call her.

Anya was extremely annoyed with all the journalists surrounding her and firing question after question, yet she tried to answer all of them properly. At least, there was treacle tart.

"Miss Donbyre, what do you think of the Durmstrang Institute?" A lightly-accented voice inquired, an accent she kind of recognised as Austrian. Anya looked over the wizard with brunet curls shortly trimmed, of tall stature. She had learnt to be wary of those from her false place of origin, even though she had always felt certain attraction to their country.

"They are very entertaining characters, regardless of the unfortunate fate which has befallen upon them. I'll dearly miss some I had the honour to meet when they leave at summer, Frau…"

"Mister von Burgh. Albrecht von Burgh." The reporter answered. Anya nodded, recognising the name as belonging to a light family who could be traced back the time the Romans called them barbarians. They had combatted erklings and the Dark Hunt with ferocity; and most of their members had suffered mysterious deaths in the latest years. No surprise that the young man in front of her had decided to leave his country.

"Austria?" She questioned him.

"From Salzburg." He agreed, steering her attention to him.

"I have met one of your fellow city-man thanks Durmstrang. Dominik Meier, perhaps you know him." She declared, barely hiding her grin at finding someone to interview about her blackmail. A thing she hadn't been able to do with the two other Austrian students which had come to Hogwarts. The man shook his head, denying her assumption. "Maybe you have heard of his relative then, a woman named Liohtleben?"

"Widow Liohtleben? How have you come across the Liohtlebens?" He almost shouted in surprise.

"Are they a famous in Austria?"

"Infamous, if that is what you mean. Mister Liohtleben was killed by muggles when his son was still seven. His wife went crazy. Oh, she was a kind woman – I remember her from when I was a small child, the Liohtlebens were acquaintances of my parents." The man shuddered.

"Is that so? When that happened?" She asked, with a much more interest than she was showing. At the opposite side of the chamber, Ms. Scrimgeour laughed of something Tom had shared with her group.

"Five, six years ago, I think."

Meier was currently fourteen. If he was who she thought he was, that had to have happened seven years ago. "1933, possibily?"

The man nodded vehemently. "Ja ja, 1933. I remember now. Not long after that, indeed." Mr. Von Burgh proclaimed, a thoughtful expression taking over his features. "Now, what do you think of an interview? I have heard you will be awarded the Order of Merit at the end of the term."

Her mood went sour again, and her eyes roamed around the chamber – searching for escape route. Her eyes landed in a tall academic. "Would you excuse me, Mr. Von Burgh? I must speak with someone." She said, already leaving behind the handsome reporter.

"Dylan Marwood!" She called after the scholar, a huge smile stamped on her face as she greeted the short man who had taught her Mermish by-correspondence. He mirrored her expression with perfection.

"Nastya Donbyre! May the waters flow in your favour in this new year, dear girl."

"Thank you, Mr. Marwood." She smiled. "I would answer you in Mermish, but I have unpleased too many of my friends with shrieks – and apparently the birthday girl isn't allowed to one Bubblacalva Charm."

"Nobody comprehends the visionaries, de facto. And call me Dylan, Nastya, how many times must I tell you this?" A worried expression took over his face for a moment. "How are you feeling?"

"Annoyed with Horace for so many reporters but honoured with your presence." She answered, deflecting the real purpose of his question. She didn't want to be at that party anymore, no, she had to get away and check everything before she lost herself in her reason. The scholar seemed too understand – at least partially – her unwillingness in that subject, because he let it pass.

"Horace is a deceptive man, really. I remember him from the time we studied together, and he changed nothing. We were in the same year – him in Slytherin and me in Ravenclaw." He confessed. "I have heard you had a meeting with Lady Murcus."

"I was banned from the colony, you mean."

"I haven't heard of that. However, your Mermish was much praised. You should try to speak with Her Ladyship again, she may have already forgiven you." He hinted.

"I'll wait for a bit more. I don't fancy having Merchieftainess Murucs killing me with one of her spears. They are a colony of warriors after all."

He laughed soundly. "Don't ever approach the oceans if you think these are feral, Nastya. You may go; it won't be rude of you leaving me by now. Nobody will suspect." He winked to her and Anya smiled in thanks to him and vanished in the crowd, too eager to finish her research.

She rushed across the corridors of the dungeons, her crimson coloured robes dancing behind her running body. "Ouroboros." She whispered the password, and vanished into the female dungeons, ignoring the group of upperclassmen in the common room.

The piles of newspapers she had copied from Durmstrang Library were inside a tiny bag with undetectable extension charms in her trunk. Anya hadn't read most of them, yet she had found useful to keep them around when they related the events which had taken place in her supposed home-country over the years. Because of that, she had copied every publication the Österreichische Volks Orakle had printed since 1925.

The year of 1933. There. The Widow of the late Diethelm Liohtleben, Marika Bethany, married a muggle named Werner Meier. This had been published in the 9th of December, 1933. There was no publication of Mr. Liohtleben. Suicide? No, no. Mister von Burgh had claimed the man had been killed by muggles.

Dominik Liohtleben had been at the ceremony, overseeing his mother's marriage to the muggle. So, he was a pureblood after all. A pureblood of a light family. Things didn't match. The Liohtlebens were obviously accepting of the marriage, something proved by their presence in mass in the same wedding. Ergo, the Liohtlebens were blood-traitors. Dominik wasn't. He hated anything to do with muggles. The fact that someone raised by muggle-lovers had become a blood-supremacist could be justified by his father's murder.

Yet he had taken his stepfather's surname. Why would he do that? He could have been forced. Yet, lying about your name and identity was easy at school – she knew for herself – and he still used the name at Durmstrang.

The Liothlebens didn't live in Salzburg, however. They had always lived in Vienna. The wedding had happened in Vienna. So, why Salzburg?

"Anya?" A voice called and she turned to see Tom in the doorway. "What is that?"

"Journals. I found it fitting to have information on my home country." She explained breevely. "What are you doing here, Arawn? This is the feminine ala."

_'Both of us know that Parselmouths are free to wander around in the dungeons.'_

_'Just because we can, it doesn't mean that we should!'_ Anya protested in the snake language. _'What people will think – that I lack decorum?'_

_'And suddenly, our roles were reversed. I had to go where, because you hastily left your birthday party, and I have gifts to give you.'_

Anya stared at her partner in crime, confused. A box with a beautiful hat cello had been delivered that morning, together with new bow to her– her parent's gifts. Through the day, she had received garments, books, sweets, artworks, toys and even a beautiful set of knives from Ragnar. At the middle of the day, Tom had closed a necklace of pearls around her neck with a smile, easily ignoring the collar of Fanni she had never taken out. That had been his present, a necklace stolen somewhere. There was a time he could only steal a pearl. She felt they were that couple of American muggle thieves that had raided the country some years before – Bonnie and Clyde. She also thanked the day she had thought of buying an endless trunk, she had too many belongings now.

"Oh, I wasn't finished." He explained, and then he offered a box to her. Anya accepted it with ease, opening to reveal a mirror, a crystal ball, a tarot set and two books. "Divination. You will be taking it during your third year."

"Do I have to?" She groaned, already anticipating the answer. She had thought of that on her own, and reached the same conclusion she knew he had. Tom gazed at her, as if it was obvious – and it actually was.

"You are a seer, or at least, you could be. I think this subject has been awaiting for you since Cassandra Trelawney graduated, which means fifty years of unsuspecting students had been victim of the class so you could learn something from it. Scrying mirror, crystal ball, minor and major arcana decks. You have your astronomy material already. You can start with clairvoyance, catoptromancy, cartomancy and astrology."

"Thanks, I think." She answered, watching with some interest as Tom caught a small pouch in his robes's pockets and offered her. Anya opened it and she dropped its contents in her hand.

A tiny, dry head landed perfectly in her head. Stunned, by the expression. Anya shrieked.

_'Please, Arawn, tell me you didn't just gave me a shrunken head.'_

_'I won't tell you nothing then.'_ He said, watching her with much interest. _'Just like you didn't told me about these journals. Or about Meier and you being close-acquaintances.'_

 _'You won't take my thoughts out of this, Tom! You cannot give people dead-heads for their birthdays – it isn't sane! This was that shop-owner, Anboar, wasn't it?'_ She looked at him, realisation taking over her. ' _Please, don't tell me you killed someone.'_

 _'I didn't kill anyone._ ' He assured her, and she breathed in relief. _'I only ordered Anise to kill. She is rather good.'_

Anya stared at the head, dread – too much dread to be believable. Unconsciously, she registered that Tom had stood up and was knowing saying goodbye to her – and wishing her a lot of happiness. _'Ah! You should enervate it. Its name is Lizzie. Lizzie Kneeler.'_

It would take a while for Anya notice that Tom had stolen her survey on Meier before leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? Leave reviews, I promise to try to answer all your questions!


	21. Twenty-First Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dearest readers,
> 
> One more chapter for you - after a break, I suppose. This is me trying to get in university, wish me luck, I am going for Engineering. Once against thanks to my wonderful beta, lil'hawkeye3, and to all of you, beautiful people. Thanks to all of you who reviewed, followed and/or favorited - I will try to answer those reviews now.
> 
> This is a small chapter, but I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Riona.

 

Tom quietly created a trail of thoughts to follow as he untangled the mess Anya's elegant script had created in her notes over a certain Austrian. He was hiding in the Music Salon, simply because Professor Trocar could warn him long before Anya reached them – the perks of having a vampire ally.

He was hiding. He was very much aware that the Slytherin witch couldn't care less if Elizabeth Kneeler was killed by his money. Actually, she'd feel a vindictive glee after she was assured his actions would have no damaging consequences. But before that, she would be enraged with him for stealing her notes and putting them in risk. She didn't know that Kneeler had been abandoned in St. Mungos, and that when she died, as some mental deranged patients did, her muggle relatives had already been obliviated. It was the standard procedure the ministry followed when mudbloods died or suffered permanent injuries, mental included. They affirmed that it wasn't wise to keep muggles informed about their existence when they lost their liaison with the magical community. Nobody had given a shit about Kneeler's death; and no one would investigate further.

"You smell of blood," their music professor informed him.

"Who doesn't these days?" He noted, while staring at the words which told him that the Austrian wizard had lied when he had introduced himself as Dominik Meier. Tom didn't like the scent of this whole affair. Meier called his witch by the nickname he had given her, and yet Anya was researching his past on her own.

"And of the Arts," the vampire noted. "As a teacher, I'm supposed to denounce you... or to advise you at least."

Tom smirked. "Music is art, though, an art you teach." He countered, looking up from the old newspaper. "We have orders to delate you if you relapse to your nocturnal habits. But I still have to speak with someone about a little blonde butterfly."

They both chuckled, hardly threatened by the bickering. "Oh, she is so sweet, Tom! Her crimson juice is like nectar in my fangs and her person is so innocent in my arms. She wishes to be a minx, but she doesn't comprehend she is a dove with no wings."

"I hardly wish to be your confident, Lazarus. Now I have a riddle for you."

"Are you offering yourself?" The ancient creature inquired, snorting.

"You know this isn't what I'm talking about. Let's see...A man calls a woman in a very intimate manner. But this same woman doesn't address the man in a friendly way-"

"A platonic love." The professor guessed.

"-and investigates him behind his back."

"They are in a romantic relationship. He is polygamous. She suspects him. Unless this isn't a hypothetical situation. All females in this is school are oblivious or too knowing."

"He follows her everywhere."

"Whatever that Durmstrang student told you, you must know it was a provocation."

"I know. He is attracted to her."

"No. He waited for her to end a rehearsal one day. He doesn't scent of lust. Many do, but not him. But he seems to be...how do you humans say? A pursuer? "

"What kind of stalker has no attraction for the one he stalks?"

"The one who is more vicious than adoring."

][][][][][][][][][][]

One day to hunt, other to be hunted. The first time Anya had heard this wizarding proverb, it had been uttered by Deodor Fronsac. She had looked at him in confusion and he had explained that it was a saying that could be traced back the Witch Hunts, when wizards and witches would pursue and be pursued by muggles. She had never thought that things would turn so literal in her life.

She had just found Tom and was ready to demand an explanation about the shrunken head he had given her – which she had kept stunned, she had no wish to hear that annoying Ravenclaw, even as a corpse – when he began to quiz her on Meier. And immediately their roles had been reversed and she was the one avoiding him.

She was just finished with pruning the gigantic umbrella-flowers Professor Beery had tasked them to do in their second period that day. He had allowed her to leave earlier, and she had taken that opportunity, not fancying having to leave with everyone else, including Tom.

Anya caught the sight of a curly-dirty-blonde girl approaching her, the bottle-green eyes of the girl gleaming. "Nastya!" Delphine van Tovenaar called her. "Were you in class with Laws? I am looking for her, but Herbology ended early, did you see where she went?"

"Sorry, I left earlier than the rest." The girl gave her a large smile full of small teeth, and waved her hand in a dismissing way to Anya's apologising tone.

"Don't worry. You are more than enough." She grinned again, linking their arms together. "I was having Potions now…Freyja save me, but I hate the thing. You?"

"I don't loath it." She answered simply and that was true…Potions was just one more subject she did well in, and that could be helpful.

Anya scratched the collar a certain Hungarian had bought months ago. She had been wearing the jewellery everyday – it was a sort of a punishment, or a reminder that her actions weren't always harmless. Delphine followed her movements with the eyes, and a frown took over her face.

"I knew Fanni. We had never met before Durmstrang, but people always told us we were two sides of the same coin. And I don't think they were wrong. You shouldn't blame yourself, Nastya, because what I think I would do if I was Nastya…blame myself for my own death." She sighed.

"But perhaps, you find the blame more welcoming. If that so, I can't prevent you of it. Blame is ok, you know."

Anya nodded. "So, any reason behind your hate for Potions?"

"The smell!" The Danish girl shouted. "It's dreadful!"

Tom didn't search for her more that day, and neither in the following weeks; and that made Anya believe she had escaped from the issue. She was wrong, of course.

][][][][][][][][][][]

At the other side of the castle, down an abandoned dungeon the dreadful scent a potion's fumes hovered the air in tiny vortexes. He had all the ingredients to perform the complicated potion and he was very much aware he had the ability.

It was illegal potion to brew, but that hadn't stopped Ragnar of bringing Jobberknoll feathers from the cages at his house; nor Abraxans of sending him a sample of Devil's Breath, the samples of fat red toadstools and olibanium – all from his family apothecary. The leaves of lovage and the jars of dew could be found at his own potions kit, and Tom had used and abused it. He didn't have salpeter nor nux myristica, but those were to be added in some weeks.

Tom used a mixture of dew, armadillo bile and pomegranate juice as solvent. It was a difficult potion. That mixture should be kept in a warm temperature for seventeen hours before working adding the leaves of lovage, which should be cut in perfect spirals and added in size order. In that stage, the potion was to be heated until evaporation point – and then freeze. A week after that, he was to add a pound of fat red toadstools burnt in the smoke of olibanium – one every day, at the exact same time of seconds to the twilight (and because of that, he had to be aware of the precise time of sunset). The third week was the time of the nux myristica and the Devil's Breath, smashed together until turning into powder and rolled in salpeter – those ingredients should be left at the bottom of the cauldron which required some very specific instruments. The Jobberknoll feathers were the last thing, included a day before the ending of moon cycle – a cycle they had spent drowned in centaur's milk.

The Veritaserum Potion wasn't easy, yet he would do it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom is the Devil under Anya's skin, I know.
> 
> Have a nice life, my dears, I don't know when I will update, but I suppose I will.
> 
> See ya


	22. Twenty-Second Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back! And this time is forever (well except from middle of January to middle of February)
> 
> I have to thank the always divine lil'hawkeye3, who beta'd every word of this fanfic
> 
> Have a good reading!

 

Dominik Meier opened his eyes to find a lake above him in the morning of the first day of the sixth month. For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming, but then something yanked open his mouth and poured a liquid into it, a hand massaging his throat and obliging him to drink. That was certainly not a dream, and the taste of the liquid was far from that of a dream. He shoved the bottle away and heard the sound of something being smashed. His eyes met indigo ones and he knew who his kidnapper was.

He had been sat on a rock, and although there were no visible restraints, the Durmstrang student was unable to stand. He also recognised the potion he was forced to down. Scentless and colourless, but not tasteless – he had been subjected to it several times in order to build up a resistance against it, but he had never managed to do so. Few were the wizards resitant to Veritaserum.

"Is your name of birth Dominik Liohtleben?" Tom Riddle asked.

"It is." He agreed. "Hello, Tom. I didn't see you before the full-body bind."

"I wasn't there; I have an apprentice. Now, were you born from Marika Bethany Liotleben on the 12th of November – in 1925?"

"I was."

"Tell me how your father died. And who killed him."

"Beaten, by filth. Don't know their name."

Tom smirked in satisfaction – the potion was working. The truth serum would only reveal things Meier regarded as truthful, but if they were truly truthful or not he didn't care – he wanted to know about Meier's purposes, not about a murder story. "Did you threaten Anastasia Donbyre?"

"No."

"What is your relationship with Anastasia Donbyre."

"I watch her."

"Have you done her some wrong?"

"I'm doing her good."

"Or at least, you think you are. What do you know about Anastasia Donbyre?"

"She is not Austrian."

Tom sucked a breath. Anya hadn't told him about that – but she had to know. It was very obvious that she didn't like Meier, yet she went out of her way to dig his past. There was only one reason for her to do that. Meier was blackmailing her.

"I am."

Tom didn't realise he had spoken his conclusion out loud – nevertheless, he saw red. He would torture the older boy when the effect of the potion ended. But not now - there were still more questions to be answered. "Why were you watching Anastasia?"

"I was ordered."

"By whom?"

"Lord Magnus."

"What does he wants with her?"

"He seeks power. You two are powerful."

"You were watching me as well?"

"Yes."

A new player in the game, it seemed. Incognito but powerful enough to have spies. Interested in both of them. Tom wanted to question Meier further about this Lord Magnus, but he was plainly aware he wouldn't discover much more – loyalty was much stronger than any potion.

"Your stepfather also died. Werner Meier, I believe, was his name. How did he die?"

"Stabbed five times."

"Is your mother alive?"

"No."

"What was your mother's cause of death?"

"A shot to the head."

"Why did you leave Vienna and go to Salzburg?"

"We were being followed."

"By your stepfather?" Meier didn't answer. Tom sighed. "When did you leave Vienna?"

"December of 1936."

"When was your stepfather killed?"

"October of 1936."

Well, the stalker wasn't the stepfather then. But he had hesitated. "Was your stepfather the reason you left for Salzburg?"

"Yes."

"Did the one who stabbed Werner Meier threaten you?"

"No."

"Did you stab Werner Meier?"

"No."

"Did your mother stab Werner Meier?"

"Yes." Tom smirked.

"Did the police follow you?"

"Yes."

"Did the police kill your mother?"

"No."

"Did someone close to Werner Meier kill your mother?"

"Yes."

"Was your mother killed by your stepfather's lover?"

"No."

"Was your mother killed by your stepfather's relative?"

"Yes."

"What was the relation between your stepfather and your mother's killer?"

"Fraternal." A brother getting revenge on the evil witch then.

"Was your mother mad?" He didn't answer again, the potion's effect should be ceasing now, but there was still some answers to be given. But not all answer needed a truth serum to be revealed. "Tell me, Dominik, tell me about what the muggles did to your father."

A vein pulsated in his left temple – but that wasn't a signal of resistance to the remaining effects of the potion, no, leaving the stupor the Veritaserum induced was a progressive process, very gentle. The vein indicated rage – a rage that wasn't controlled by any potion. "Father loved those filth films of muggles. He was a fool, both of them were! But those muggles…they snapped the wand of a wizard! And then – they dared to profane their betters…A disgusting kind. They are no better than cattle. Obtuse stupid cows and blind bulls!" He roared, and Tom could hear his conviction there. He wasn't wrong of course – muggles were nothing but animals, but he allowed himself to be to affected by those mammals. "My mother married one of those filthy things. It was a little calf, but I had to adopt his name when we were being followed for slaughtering it. Muggles are so obnoxious. You don't see cattle rioting against humans, do you? But they – oh they think they are better! They think they better than us – they think there are better among themselves. But they are blind – they don't see that they are all worms beneath our feet!" Dominik cackled at the end, and Tom was very aware that he was seeing the true face of that boy. He was half-insane – but half of the world was; and the other half was completely bonkers.

"I agree with you, mostly. Now, you admitted you blackmailed Anya – and while I'm very keen to blackmail, I don't like it when it's applied to her, or to me. But no one can blackmail me." He smirked. "If you want to share some information on Lord Magnus, I can show some mercy. Nevertheless, I advise you to behave – there is only one more person aware of this chamber, alive at least, and she isn't very pleased with you either.

[][][][][][][][][][][]

It was interesting to see the number of students who came to seek for guidance at the end of the year. The first weekend of June was the busiest of all. Examinations would start at the Monday, and students of both first and second years would come for her – and sometimes even a third year would question her. The year before, Tom had been with her to review; it was a useful time to make alliances, even though Tom didn't mingle too much with their year-mates. This weekend, however, Tom had vanished – and so had Dominik Meier, Delphine informed her.

She had a weird feeling about that. Tom had been acting normally, except for fleeing away once in a while – at the most unusual times – but the month before he had found the notebook she kept on Meier; he had refused to give it back. She had to postpone her investigation on their disappearances, however, as she was holding something akin to a class to their peers. Sometimes she would order Dorea or Abraxas or Ragnar to lecture on some subject (the others being too shy, or impatient, to work as teachers) but she had to stay around. Most students of other houses didn't trust other Slytherins aside her.

They had taken over an abandoned classroom in the left Bell Tower. It was a mess of cushions over the desks and at the grounds, and the young teens sat where they saw fit. Lions lounging at the desks and the chairs, taking more space than needed, most without shoes or with loose ties and ribbons; badgers sitting together on the ground, leaving space for the others and half-spread over the stone floor; the ravens sitting leisurely on the chairs and tables, all in very comfortable positions to read their books; and half of the snakes sitting stiffly while the other half lazed around, both of parties rather full of pomp and decorum. Anya was the exception – she had sat the whole morning between Harfang's legs, and no one was able to move her from there.

Except Ragnar. When they were leaving for lunch, the auburn-haired wizard had informed her of Tom's plans for that weekend. He was worried because Tom hadn't returned to their dorm the night before – and Slughorn had been looking for him since the previous evening. He had no idea where Tom had taken Meier, but Anya did: to the only place nobody was aware of the existence – under the Great Lake.

She had run there after that, skipping lunch with an order to Dorea to bring her tea, chocoballs and treacle tart. Anya had found her Arawn there, as expected, leaning over the figure of a tortured Dominik Meier.

"I can deal with my own problems, Arawn." She had huffed, while repeating several times the Vulnera Sanentur spell. "Really, you cannot leave lasting damage if wish to remain incognito. Will he need shock therapy?"

"No, I didn't use the Cruciatus Curse. It's too difficult to vanish the traces of it." Anya gave him an appreciating grin. "And you did such a wonderful job dealing with him." He criticised, full of sarcasm.

Anya ignored the jab. "Did you obliviate him?"

'Yesss.' He hissed, rolling his eyes. "I found out every question you had on him." Tom told her, smugly.

That caught her attention. And her attention was enough to make him spill his beans, too eager to flaunt himself. So he told her all he had discovered, and she listened to him – two thirteen year-old magicals talking below a lake that could be an ocean, in a language only snakes could understand, and a tortured body at their feet.

"And you have no idea who this Lord Magnus might be?"

"No. He refused to answer."

"Magnus is a Latin name. Many wizards are named in Latin." She shrugged. "We will find out, we have to finish the term and then we will be free. You should go to the dorms, Ragnar told me you weren't there last night. I'll ask a Hufflepuff to bring some food from the kitchens to you."

"What about him?"

"I will leave him in an abandoned classroom. The exams are so exhausting for students – no wonder one of them fell asleep through the whole weekend."

"You think people are going to believe in it?"

"If they don't, Dominik better start creating some excuses. What about my secret?"

"He never intended to tell – and the Durmstrang student body will be going to Ilvermory at the end of the term, so who cares? I could wipe his memories of you but that-"

"That would catch much more of Lord Magnus' attention." She realised and he nodded. Well, whatever. She stunned the older boy and whispered a mobilicorpus and a notice-me-not charm, and the body trailed after her.

[][][][][][][][][][][]

The Durmstrang students left the day before the end of the term – the wind swelled the sails as they pulled up their anchors. It was the 21st of June, and the students were reunited to say farewell at the paved grounds. The ship would sail away, taking part of the students to the American school of magic while others would return to their homes, preferring to be home-schooled or to attend the classes at their institute again, even if Grindelwald forces were controlling them. Parents had been coerced into changing sides, apparently.

The Van Tovenaars had instructed their daughters to return. Their family had to face obstacles together, and that was a challenge. As a neutral family, they couldn't perdure in a country in which alliance to a side was obligatory. Delphine had shared her parents' decision with Anya some days before – her faced marred by worry, but determined.

"If something goes wrong in Austria, you must floo me." The Danish witch instructed to the false Austrian. "The password is Paradis, and I will key you into the wards."

Anya had thanked her recent friendship. It was a useful safe haven. "I would do the same…but I won't put your name into my wards. Not in Austria." The blonde witch understood. Austria was the home-land of the muggle Führer and Grindelwald's playground. Having your identity keyed to a ward wasn't necessarily good in those circumstances. Both girls knew that, although while one had real people informing her by letters, the other one had to rely on slier ways of communication.

Laws approached them from behind, swinging her arms over their shoulders and squeezing hard. Anya chuckled as Delphine groaned and attempted to free herself from the embrace. Not that it worked – the Ravenclaw was surprisingly strong. They all bid farewell, promises of owling being exchanged.

The Danish girl grinned and stumbled in her sister's direction, the older witch had already boarded the ship which would take them away.

And it went, taking pureblood and half-blood students of all oriental countries in Europe – taking memories, some sorrowful, some dangerous. Taking friends and dates – and taking Dominik Meier away.

[][][][][][][][][][][]

The Hogwarts Express reached King's Cross Station at half past five. The twilight still had to reach the sky in the Summer, but London was a land of darkness. Anya and Tom said goodbye to their peers and walked through the barrier which connected the magical world with the muggle. And then, they saw it. Trains fully loaded with war supplements and soldiers marching around the station. Some of them were obviously new recruits – those carried an innocence that wasn't shared with the others, most of those who carried heavy injuries.

They walked past those men aloofly. Their trunks were too full, but lightening charms made them impossibly easy to carry. Anya had to cancel some of those, though, when a young looking man offered to help her with hers. She just smiled and accepted it – that was a muggle who still had to go to war, obviously.

"How can a lass like you carry this much?" The man inquired, while putting her trunk over his shoulder. Tom groaned, but only her was able to hear it – he found the muggle's behaviour too tiresome, she knew.

"We all have to be strong in this time, good soldier." She sang, and he beamed at her. "Where are you from?"

"A small village in Wales. You?"

"We are Londoners."

"You should leave London, this is no place for children – they have been evacuated." He counselled, settling her trunk in the taxi Tom had called.

"We know – we were in the countryside. Our aunt is taking us to America, though; we had to return." She hastily invented. Maybe the man was right and London wasn't a place for children anymore, but they had nowhere to go.

The cab took in, sweeping between the streets of a deserted London. The Wool's Orphanage could be found in a small corner of the West End, a building squeezed in the middle of city. Tom loathed it. The car stopped in front of it. And they stepped down.

There were none in the garden to tell Mrs. Cole that the freaks had arrived. And the building was without its particularly noisy soundtrack. Both gates and doors were locked. The war had certainly changed the orphanage. They paid the driver, who gave them a strange look before driving his cab away.

They couldn't use their wands to unlock the gate – but that wasn't a problem. Differently from the station, there was no one around to watch as Anya apparated them in their room. A small room with a lone bed – which they had managed to make bigger as they grew, but never to duplicate, not without wands. Their room was tidy, although dusty – they hadn't entered on it since they left, probably fearing what demoniac thing they had done in it.

No one came to them. There were no sounds of steps around the building. And they would soon discover that there was no one around to make those steps – the orphanage was empty. They had left them behind.

That was pretty expected of them.

There was no water, no electricity, no gas nor food. The rats ran wild around the house – a colony like no other. They found beds untidied, which was something they would dismiss as common if it wasn't for the cigarettes in some of those. Recently lighted, recently burnt. Apparently they weren't the only ones to have found a way to get in.

There was nothing to them there. The feeling of abandoned, the sensation of being an orphan had never felt so strong. They only had each other. If one day both of them died together, there would be no one to bury their corpses. Nobody would prevent their bodies of being devoured by vultures or of being defiled by humans. And even if they were incredible powerful, beautiful and intelligent – a mother wouldn't think twice before exchanging them for her troubled son.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are always appreciated, I wish a late Merry Christmas to all of you, and a wonderful New Year!


	23. Twenty-Third Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Happy New Year – here is a monstrous size chapter to a good start. Again, thanks to lil’hawkeye3, my beta, and to JK Rowling for creating the most amazing story in which this fanfic is based.
> 
> I am going to travel for a month, my dears, so I don’t know if I will be able to answer your reviews. But I gonna try! Enjoy!

 

They left. They would have gone to the Leaky Cauldron, if Tom hadn't pointed out that Anya' s face was now pretty recognizable around the wizarding world and that it would be rather difficult to explain their presence there on the same night the Hogwarts Express had left them. So instead, they went to an inn in Muggle London, and the next day bought a house-trunk, and rented a flat.

The house-trunk was, as the name suggested, was a two-storey flat fitted inside of an all-zinc vertical trunk. The first floor had two rooms – a rustic light-wooded kitchen, and a large sitting room with tufted upholstered fainting couches and chaise lounges lined in pale green velveteen. The high walls of the lounge depicted a misty forest with high trees, two of them covered by bookshelves and the floor was light wooden, and a curved leg coffee table, an iron chandelier hang from the ceiling and a fireplace. A spiral staircase of white marble carried them to the second floor.

The second-floor had four rooms. For the first time in their lives outside Hogwarts, they wouldn't share a bed. She had no idea how to feel about it. Her room was all in shades of cyan – viridian and teal – a vanity, a bronze canopy bed full of cushions, a desk, and a still life painting of a bouquet with Austrian roses, yellow acacias, lilacs and rowan branches. Tom's room was darker, full of ancient furniture he had found in Knockturn Alley. He even had plans to start a wine cellar.

The other two rooms were obviously a bathroom and their walk-in-wardrobe. It was the first time they only had to share those kinds of accommodations between two. They could appreciate that change. The whole house-trunk was very convenient, and – although they had spent a lot buying it and the furniture – it had proved to be a useful investment.

They spent the two first weeks of their holidays like that, visiting Diagon Alley only during the day. Tom walked around the wizarding district, trying to gather information on Lord Magnus, on their families, on the war. Anya tried to avoid being recognised.

And then one day, everything changed.

She was sitting at one of the Diagon Alley's cafes, sipping a cup of hibiscus tea and reading an essay on the area spell, as its Peruvian theorizer called. His idea was to use an auxiliary to amply the range of targets of a spell. Its uses were unfathomable – if it didn't require a supernatural amount of power to be executed. And that was the reason his work was so rejected in the academic fields.

Anya's eyes fixated on the text in her hands. The theory behind the verbal spells indicated that words were merely a tool – so, such words in order to amplify the area shouldn't be necessary. However, nobody was able to stun more than one person simply saying "stupefy". The words and wand-movements were used to evoke a certain effect, tools to help visualise what the caster wanted his magic to do. Because of that, it was possible to create new spells – because one wasn't finding a way to make something happing, one was only training his magic and his brain to respond to words and movements. It was also because of this that most children couldn't perform a spell correctly their first time – because they lacked the knowledge of its effects and workings, or because they found something wrong with their own performance and as thus, didn't expect anything to happen. But this was also the reason that sometimes one found a spell one had no idea whose effects might be, and with only a generic explanation of its uses (like for healing, for cheering, for enemies) one managed to cast it rightly if one had had enough time to assimilate it – because one expected something to happen; to one's injury to be healed, to one's depression to be solved, to one's enemy to be injured. The addition to a word to amplify the effects was just that: a change in expectations. A powerful and ambitious change – that if one's had enough power, could be used with ease. But how much power was needed?

Someone sat in front of her and Anya looked up. It was Tom, obviously. A cup of black tea appeared over the table as he sat and she assumed he had already talked with the house-elves. Strange, she hadn't seen him. A moment later, a slice of treacle tart reified beside her cup and she smiled. "You know me so well, Arawn."

"Your parents are dead."

"Harisa and Sigmund? Or others?"

"The Donbyres."

"Oh. I liked them. They used to give me presents." She commented, cutting a forkful of tart to herself. "Why they died?"

"They aren't useful anymore." Everybody thought of her as a pureblood, he meant. "It's a good time to die." There is a war where they live, that's it. "And it cuts some loose ties." So, Meier had made Tom believe keeping her pretence parents alive wasn't useful when anyone could unmask their inexistence with a simple trip. Their death wasn't the perfect escape, but it was good enough. She wasn't surprised by the decision. She had already thought of that and reached the same conclusion.

"And your father?"

"He has shut himself in. Your mother was the only family he had left – even if they were only cousin-in-laws – and her and your father's death shocked him. I fear he won't endure until the start of the term."

"Won't somebody feel weird about two teenagers living on their own?"

"To the government, we have always lived in an orphanage. To everyone else we have been lying to, I'm an emancipated heir with an account in Gringotts. Nobody cares more than that." Tom shrugged.

"What has ascertained your decision?"

"I was thinking about Lord Magnus – no, I discovered nothing – but I came to the conclusion this wasn't helping anything anymore."

And it had been that day in the middle of July that the lives of Sigmund and Harisa Donbyre ended, and that another Tom Riddle, a magical one, was marked to death. That had also been the day they received an invitation to the Annual Ministry Ball – at which Anya would receive her Order of Merit.

The Order of Merit, although intrinsically different from the Order of Merlin, was considered by many the first step to be consecrated with such. Differently from the Order of Merlin though, the award was purely British, and dated back the fifteenth century. Everyone knew that such prestige was granted to few.

][][][][][][][][][][][]

A small, marble Grecian palace stood hidden in the middle of Copenhagen. Delphine van Tovenaar had known something had changed at home when she and her sister received orders to go back.

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Tovenaar was one of the oldest magical families in Denmark, and they prided themselves for their neutrality. Yet, as the house-elf who had been her nanny for years, Nina, carried her trunk into the house, gushing over the masters' master and his knights, Delphine began to suspect that those changes were even more life-altering than she had thought.

The Danish witch had been right, of course, and hours later she was kneeling in her home's ballroom – kissing the hem of silky magenta robes. The bronze-skinned owner of such rich garments was a man of luxuriant golden locks and deep blue eyes. He held himself with much pomp, his expression stoic and imperious defined by refined jaws. His figure resembled the body that the Greeks had idealised.

Gellert Grindelwald. The Dark Lord. Her Lordship after her parents had sworn alliance to him.

"Your daughters, Ijsbrand?" Her father acquiesced. "Fehltreffer Coralline and Fehltreffer Delphine. A pleasure to finally met you – I trust your stay at Hogwarts was pleasant?"

"Very much, my Lord." Her sister agreed, never raising her eyes to face the man. Nevertheless, both of them could see that the man had nodded and dismissed them. They were rather eager to obey – retreating back to the large doors and away.

Both witches sighed in relief as soon as they walked through the doors, releasing the tension from their shoulders. Thankfully, their Lord hadn't taken further interest in them and because of that they would only have to worry about avoiding him and his followers during the summer. Most of them were stationed on their manor. Their mother had separated a tower to them isolate themselves if that proved to be the case. The summer enclosed in a tower – much like a princess of a fairy-tale, how exciting.

][][][][][][][][][][][]

The prospect of the Ministry ball had made them return to their thieving habits with full-force. Regardless of the desolation of London, the city seemed to be a gathering place to jewels, money and artworks. Most Europeans sought to send their riches to the insular section of the continent as the war continued to take place in their countries – and little of this wealth had left the United Kingdom already.

It was mostly heavily guarded – but few were the muggle guards able to prevent an apparition. They couldn't use their wands, but they had never needed them to steal. The black market was in turmoil that day, Tom noticed as he made his way to the small junk shop in the East End, whose owner, Ralph Anderson, usually bought his items.

He was a bit more wary that evening. Anderson had told him some men had been keeping their eyes on him. Some of them worked for the Nazis, but others were only taking their chances with the young teen who walked around their territory. Tom wasn't too worried – he had magic, even though he couldn't use his wand, but it would help to be more careful.

The All & Penny junk shop was a miserable building boxed up between semi-detached houses and nothing would attract people there if it wasn't for the fact that the whole store was façade to the illegal business that went around. Anderson was tall and thin balding man full of greed but too chatty to be harmful. A bell rang above the door he opened and he appeared quickly. Tom didn't spoke a word to him as he leaned his merchandise of the day against the wall and unwrapped it.

It wasn't a huge painting – around 70 x 60 cm – but it was very colourful, a painting of a bald man with a huge blonde beard, naked except by a scarlet shawl while reading a book in bucolic scenery. A skull near his shoulder and a lion holding the huge book. A half-clad anchorite with a skull, a bible and a lion, St. Jerome if his art-knowledge could be trusted. The work should date back the early 1600s, or perhaps the late 1500s. It was something similar to Tintoretto but signed as Jacob Palma. Anya had stolen it from a basement in Mayfair.

"What do you have here? Jesus Christ reading the bible – pretty old isn't it?"

"It's from the 17th century. Saint Jerome. Palma. An oil on canvas, obviously. Three thousand pounds. "

"Never heard the name Palma and nobody comes here to buy paintings, you know. If you had brought me jewellery it would be easy to sell – every goldsmith and jeweller can make a use of them if nobody wants the original. But paintings? No artist wants to pay overpriced artworks just to use the canvas. Five hundred it's too much, Tom."

"The idea is to sell it for appreciation, Ralph. This work has survived three centuries. Most art-collectors don't care for the right side of law – it's a world of filthy back-stabbing and theft. I can steal whatever you want from a museum next time, but you are going to pay me nine hundred for this one."

"I don't think so, Tom. You see – I've been speaking with some guys and we reached the conclusion a thirteen years boy can't be too difficult to overwhelm. So, why don't you accept my offer and be done with it?"

Tom knew something had gone terribly wrong when he heard the sound of the bell ringing once again as the door was opened and he swore. Keeping a false smile on his face. "Of course, Ralph, you can pay me your price."

"I knew you would agree." He took a look on the men who were stationed behind Tom. "Follow me, Tom."

Tom had never walked into the place Anderson kept his money – too locked – but apparently there was no good trust between the merchant and the men he had allied himself with, enough to think leaving the painting behind as he went to pick his payment was a worse idea. Tom smiled as he saw the keys on the man's hips – and the door full of locks. There was a time he wouldn't risk such betrayal but now, well, he had a hand of glory, didn't he?

As the man unlocked the door, Tom lightened up a candle and settled it within the hand. It would blind everyone in a room – except its handler. He pushed the man aside with a strong wind. The room was full of money bags, the kind a thing you would never expect to find in such poor establishment. He pushed all those in his extended bag and casually walked down the stairs.

Four men waited for him – two heavily-built and tall, a stocky one and another coltish. But they were unable to see him, so he easily got past them and grabbed the painting before skulking to street. The open-air area annulated the effects of the Hand of Glory, so he was obliged to run as soon as he became visible. The men were very quick to follow him, a shout from Anderson warning them he had gotten away.

He stumbled through the streets, the men heavy on his heels as he avoided the boxes and the booths of merchants, and furious passers-by. He would send whiffs against his pursuers but they weren't very effective in keeping them away. The wizard was two blocks away from his flat when he fell over and the much larger legs of his chasers outshined his.

His wand rolled out of his hand to lie just before the coltish man's feet. He didn't see it, and even if he had, he would have dismissed it as a branch – all Tom could do was pray for magic to keep it safe from steps. The two huge men held him up, while to stocky one grinned and grabbed the painting from his arms.

They weren't looking for the money. Perhaps Ralph hadn't informed them on the subject or maybe, the thought he had left the bags somewhere. His latter supposition proved to be right when the stocky's fist made contact with his abdomen, forcing the air out of his lungs. The man shouted: "Where did you put it?"

Tom groaned but didn't answer. His bag was safe, keyed to his magic and not even looking like a money bag. Those were filthy oblivious muggles, they wouldn't suspect nothing. A stream of fists hit his body, and he felt something giving in under the pressure. He groaned, unable to breath and to think as he felt over the pavement.

He wished for his magic to lash out. He ordered it to blow those creatures away, to clean him from that dirt.

Bash.

Feet connected with his upper-body – kicks at his thorax, abdomen and back. And his magic did nothing to prevent it. His ribs gave in, and his nose cracked as a punch hit him. Tom hissed in pain, his cheek against the street as he closed his eyes.

Bam.

The tortured looks in the men' eyes as his powers every filament of rational thoughts never left his own mind, because his magic found itself unable to reproduce his commands. He felt the taste of iron in his lips and he knew he was bleeding – like a small cowered animal whose fangs had been taken away.

"Where is it, you little shit?!"

And maybe he was a shit, splayed on the pavement just like the dejects of some stray dog.

Thum.

They had to stop. Fuck. Why his magic wasn't reacting? Merlin, if his magic stopped…they would find the money. They would kill him – because magic had always been his only shield to survive.

"Tell me, you fucker!"

He couldn't reach, he didn't know how. His magic didn't react as he told it to. He couldn't after all, not in front of those. His wrists snapped and he couldn't reach for them. His half-opened lids observed as some feet passed across the street, but those who stopped only shouted encouragements. He felt a swearing pain ran through his spine and shrieked.

He absorbed every insult the muggles threw at him. Could he call them muggles? Muggles were a word to wizards, and his magic had left, hadn't it? Maybe…maybe magic had only been an illusion – a manifestation to his wish to be special – and he was only a stupid delusional orphan who nobody cared about.

He felt shame. His tongue taste the floor and his arms laid limp against his body – in odd angles. He couldn't contain a screech – which ran dry by the buildings. His conscience drifted away as warm blood ran through his face and the last thing he knew before passing out was the feel of his magic reacting at least, and of someone bending down a touching him gently.

][][][][][][][][][][][]

They had gathered seventeen pounds thanks to Tom's stunt but the consequences of it hadn't been mild. Anya had spent several Galleons on Skelo-gro, Soothing and Blood-Repleshing Potions. But while the many broken bones, bruises and cuts healed, a mind was far more difficult.

Someone proud like Tom refused to acknowledge how much he had been affected by the attack, but she knew the truth. The moment his magic had failed him, Tom had lost his confidence. And the weapon which had always been his to use and abuse had been confused by his panic. His despise for muggles grew as he watched those souls maim without compassion and he laughed at the signals of compassion from those without magic since his fight.

He refused to read their collection of books, and the quotation they had for such a long time found amusing, lost its mirth as he avoided using the words of those he came to loath.

The explanation to Tom's momentary loss of magic was quite simple – and any child who had grown up in the Wizarding World could pin-point it in seconds. Magic had only two reactions to its wielder's fright: the first one was lashing out wildly when the magical being had never been instructed on how to control it, this was called accidental magic; and the second was when the one had an extreme understanding of it, and in one's ability to exercise an enormous control over it, one bound one's magical channels and prevented any reaction from it. As both of them had always been able to control their powers, obviously their magics would follow the second path.

Regardless of the failure by an excessive prowess, Tom didn't trust his magic anymore. And with that, the fencing training had started. He had contacted a young goblin warrior to teach them the arts of the sword, the hammer and the spear. His name was Adamok, the Audacious and he would always indulge Anya with talk in Gobbledegook, which she had recently started to learn.

Anya gazed at the looking glass she held, trying to see something. Catoptromancy wasn't an easy field, or maybe it was just ineffective. Nevertheless, she had had visions so this whole divination business couldn't be that much of bullshit – which obliged her to try. She laid the damned mirror in a bowl and conjured a jet of water above her eyes. The liquid hitting her eyeballs hurt like hell but that had to be effective.

The water leaked into the bowl and she dived her head into it, the dim light of her room being reflected and refracted by the looking glass. She stared at her reflection, and the waves her movements had caused suddenly settled down.

A man in the most outrageous pink-coloured robes was kneeled at the floor, his auburn hair with stains of crimson dry blood, sweat sticking it to his forehead. A blonde man whose age she couldn't fathom held his wand high, its point creating an imaginary thread to his opponent head. The second man looked no better than the first, except for being up in his feet – and both had pained expression.

"I have found it! Can you feel its power – can you feel its greatness? That is what you left behind!"

"Oh my friend, but you forget the greatest thing of all, you always have!"

She could not see where they were fighting, or if there was someone else around or not – their surroundings were mist. But she saw it when the auburn haired wizard stood up again, lashing conjurations and charms against his opponent with ferocity. And suddenly they had apparated, and she couldn't see anything more.

Anya pushed her head out of the bowl with a gasp, and Tom entered on her room, buttoning his robes with an interested look on his eyes. In a few hours would be the Ministry Ball, and they had to look impeccable. "You saw something." He stated.

"Yes. An auburn wizard duelling with a blonde one. The blonde supplanted the other for some time but the other broke it off. The blonde wore charcoal robes, and the auburn pink ones. They were talking about something powerful – more than a thing, I believe."

"Do we know them?"

"I couldn't see their faces and the hair was dirty but they seem familiar."

"Lestrange's auburn?"

"More open."

"And wearing pink robes? Dumbledore?"

Anya didn't deny because…it could be. She had never thought she would see her professor like that – but the voice sounded similar enough. Tom nodded to her, a pointed look instructing her to look more, but she refused to do it now – she was breathless enough. Instead she went to her bed, where her robes awaited for her. The wizarding world had finally walked from the buttoned robes and now the fashion adored trumpet skirt with long tails, queen Ann necklines and long circular flounce sleeves. Her dress was an imprint of that style, ivory messaline embroidered with silver reticella.

She dressed the robes over her gather belt and blow up bra, shoving her scrying instruments away and shutting her door. Tom wore an elegant set of grey linen robes, the neckline embroidered in needle lace of his white shirt was revealed by the high neck of his long jacket. His hair was gelled backward and with his noble features and high height, he looked at least five years older than he truly was, if not ten. Anya raised an eyebrow. She appeared to be a bit older as well, but that was mostly the effect of her robes – she was fairly sure that it wasn't Tom's situation.

"Are you going to share the age with me?"

"Unfortunately not, my dear Anya. You are supposed to look like a child who saved us all – reminding them of your young age is serviceable."

"But you can drink the Ageing Potion, obviously."

"Soitentely. They are expecting for some young impressionable child in my place; I'm not allowed to let such misconception to continue." He pointed out, while arranging a headband of jade over her hair.

"I'm fairly sure they are expecting some kind of adult in your place, actually." She argued, checking her image on a hand mirror. "Thank you, is beautiful."

"Glad you like it, I bought from the goblins." With stolen money, of course, but at least it had been bought. "Regarding the adults, they are in for a bad surprise then."

"We are the ones to be sad, you know, my parents are dead." She pointed out, opening the door of the parlour and stepping out of the vertical trunk, together with Tom.

They took the tube on Manor House Station, and followed Piccadilly line to Aldwych. It was strange to see how different the East End was from its West counterpart. Hackney was a zone of poverty, in which people sealed their doors shut, but Westminster was all business and tourists – even in the middle of the war. Probably the only area of London in which you would find people walking around, even if it wasn't as much as it used to be. The Ministry of Magic Headquarters was accessible through Australia House, in its basement.

The building of the beginning of the century had been built over the eight-hundred years holy well Paracelsus had used to save thousands wizards and witches from the Black Death; when the Wych Street had been destroyed at 1901, the second wizarding district in London had been lost, and only the ministry remained as a memory.

"Good evening, may I help you?" A man in a pinstripe suit asked them from behind his desk. The wizarding name, Flint, on his nameplate, together with the obvious lack of a wand in his clothing identified him as a squib – and their passageway to the Ministry.

"Good evening, sir. My cousin and I were discussing the term Billywig aristocracy. Perhaps you could help us?" Tom questioned and Anya had to contain the urge to groan. Couldn't he have just said the password? Billywig aristocracy – nobody was hearing their conversation anyway.

"This is an embassy and I am not a linguist, even though I am sure you will find more results under the name Bunyip aristocracy." The squib answered, motioning with his head to the door behind his post. "Have a good day, mister and miss…"

"Anastasia Donbyre and Tom Riddle, he is my plus one this night." Anya explained, walking across the door Tom held open to her. The room which it leads to was actually the interior of an elevator that moved just as the door was closed.

Some twists and harsh turns latter, the door opened again, showing a wide hall. The Ministry Headquarters was dated back its foundation, in 1707. It was exaggerated. The ceiling was adorned by a moving painting of a wizarding couple, surrounded by couples of goblins, centaurs, and many more – all of them gazing at the wizard and the witch with adoring eyes. Windows at the lateral walls of the showed sceneries which were obviously charmed to be there, as they were underground. Chandeliers were hung in the ceiling, and under the widows, several chaise longue settees. Rococo and cream-coloured – that was the Ministry of Magic.

Tom swept the chamber with attentive eyes; the Ministry was very crowded that evening. He could recognise many faces in the crowd, however, so it would be difficult to mingle in. Children weren't invited, so they haven't expected to meet their classmates that day, and they had been right in doing so. But they could see some upper years. Lawrence Diggory had been brought by his father, the Head of the International Magical Trading Standards Body. Ignatius Prewett, Lucretia Black's fiancée and a young advocate, had brought Orion's sister with him to the ball. Georgiana Moon was obviously present, a tall man at his twenties by her side, her brother Harold probably. As the British Youth Representative at Wizengamot, Wilhelmina Scrimgeour had been invited with her boyfriend, Polaris Tuft. That would be her last action in the position, however, the title would go to Amadeus Osbert, a Slytherin seventh year, now she had finished her studies at Hogwarts. She still had some value for Tom though. A nice position as a secretary on the Wizengamot Administration Services, give it some years and she would flourish. Albertch Fawley was present as well, but Tom had no interest in that one.

Diggory waved them over, and before the Slytherin wizard could lead his companion to a more fitting company than the Gryffindor, Anya had already dragged him to the boyfriend of her friend's sister.

"Father, Mr. Ammaliato, Mr. Aggéedent, these are Anastasia Donbyre and Tom Riddle." The seventh year wizard introduced them to a coltish man in his fifties, bearer of a proud imperial brunette moustache.

"I have heard only good things of both of you, Ms. Donbyre, Mr. Riddle. I am Christopher Diggory." The man answered, motioning to the two figures by his side. "You must have heard of Misters Alonzo Ammaliato and Aloys Aggéedent."

"Ms. Donbyre, it's an honour to finally meet you. Nice to meet you, as well, Mr. Riddle. " The burly man with a close-trimmed goatee which had been introduced as Alonzo Ammaliato, the Secretary of the International Order of Merit, spoke in a sweet accent he identified as Swiss.

"Ms. Donbyre, Mr. Riddle – a pleasure." The blonde pudgy man that was Aloys Aggéedent, the French Ambassador in the British soil, greeted them. "Despite the tragic circumstances, I find myself comforted for meeting such brilliant young minds that are the future of our community. The youth maybe the heroes of tomorrow, Ms. Donbyre, but you are a heroine of today."

"It's an honour to meet you, although I fear becoming vain with so many praises being sung to my persona, sirs." Anya responded, and Tom parroted similar greetings. In any other situation, Tom would feel the wish to charm himself in such powerful figures, but they were obviously less than interested in his character. How could they not be? Anya had burnt a village into ashes and saved hundreds of lives…he was the love counsellor of the Minister's niece.

Tom barely avoided curling his lips in annoyance to the older Diggory's answer "Behind every great man, there is a great woman" to the revelation that he was present as Anya's partner to the night. Was he suggesting that Tom was a puppet in Anya's hands? Or was he attributing a feminine role to him?

He was pleased by the arrival of the three ladies in robes much similar to Anya's – that were the men's wives. Enough excuse for them to leave those. He took his partner's elbow and slowly lead her away – motioning for the group of scholars he was aware she had exchanged some letters with. Adalbert Waffling and Dylan Marwood mainly. "They have been glancing in your direction – I hope you are prepared for your Language's test."

"You won't come with me?"

"Georgie – I need to speak with her."

"You wish to." She huffed. "I doubt you exchange with her any secrets that couldn't be written in letters. But then, her uncle doesn't go through her mail, does he? And he is a much better conversationalist."

"But you still think Mr. Marwood is better than him." He pointed out, in a dismissing tone she certainly ignored.

"Leonard and I are business partners. I keep the hope in his realm and he gives me power. I don't need to sweet-talk the Minister." She answered. "Go Arawn, charm a girl, a Minister and all the future rulers of this country as well."

"Should I seek for a representative of Grindelwald?"

"Of course not. That was the worst joke someone could have ever made." She told him, seriously. He half contained his smirk at those words, leaving his companion and taking a goblet of quintin black out of one of the floating trays.

He swiftly strode towards the largest assemble at the chamber, in which men and women tried to have a word with the Minister. But Tom had no need to catch the eye of the current ruler, a simple glance of his niece was enough to be invited to his side. And Georgiana had seen him seconds after he had walked into the ballroom.

A high neat bun and pair of golden robes was very eye-catching though, so it hadn't been hard to see her as well. "My, my…you have grown this summer, I am wearing heels but you are still towering a few inches over me." She jabbed with a smile. "And looking quite a bit older too. If I don't find any lover this summer, wanna have a go?"

"I don't think the absurd amount of males in your family will be pleased…I am obliged to decline."

"You and all the available males in Britain. What a bother, do you wish for me to die and turn into a love-seeking ghost, uncle?" She complained, a bit louder than previously, probably a way of summoning her relative, who approached them accompanied by Lord Malfoy. While Octavius Malfoy looked as young and regal as always, Leonard Spencer-Moon seemed to have aged quite a bit since their last meeting – he had always been bald, his skin had stretched to give way to the pounds he had fattened and that in conjunction with his tall height made him

"Only for the best to you, dearest niece. Merry meet once again, Tom Riddle, it seems you are back again flirting with Georgiana."

"She is too beloved to me, Minister, forgive me." He grasped the Ravenclaw's hands, matching her smile with a smirk. Ravenclaw – the house of wit and intelligence. Oh, he liked the girl, he knew, she was an interesting character. Bright, with no doubt, although not clever. Able to understand those around her, but solitary and inapt, with the need to belong.

"Mr. Riddle, I still have to find your fiancée's figure in the ballroom. Has Anastasia escaped from my claws?" The minister asked, probably the first time he inquired about someone's location in the evening, if one where to judge the subtle surprise of Lord Malfoy, whose eyes meet with Tom's. The black-haired wizard nodded to the father of his house-mate.

"She is with Masters Waffling and Marwood, sir." He answered, keeping his irritation with the attention Anya brought to herself. It was too childish for such moments. The minister accepted his answer, and allowed himself to be taken into conversation with a bunch of sycophants.

Thankfully, he hadn't allowed his bitterness to appear, because soon after the minister left, Lord Pollux Black and his wife, a blonde chubby woman that went by Lady Irma Black, wife her arm linked to his. At the other side of the man was the black-haired beauty of sharp expression, Lady Alexia of the Malfoy family, second-removed cousin of Pollux.

"Mr. Riddle, I feel as if I knew you closely considering the many times Abraxas mentions you on his letters, despite having only meet you once." The last witch uttered in her husky voice, offering a hand for him to bend over, a gesture he performed with ease.

"We must meet more frequently, Lady Malfoy, your presence greatly improves my day." He answered.

"Irma, I have never made you an acquaintance of Mr. Riddle, have I? This young man is Tom Riddle, and this, Mr. Riddle, is my wife, Irma."

"A pleasure to meet you, my lady."

"The famous Tom Riddle! I understand your feelings; Wally and Alphie never cease to write about Mr. Riddle and Ms. Donbyre."

"How is your father, Mr. Riddle? You had mentioned he lives in the countryside with you and your cousin, while Lord and Lady Donbyre live in Austria…" Pollux trailed off, leaving some blanks for him to feel. He was questioning the absence of Anya's parents when she was to be honoured with an award.

"Sadly, the war has reached Krems. My father is quite depressed with the news. My mother Elda and Aunt Harisa were very close, and father loved my aunt as a little sister."

"I'm sorry for your loss. Sometimes it seems this war is taking everything bright in the world." Lord Black lamented. "I wish I had the pleasure to know them, Dorea tells me Ms. Donbyre and you are very talented musicians, it must be in the blood."

"I didn't have enough time with my uncles, and surely neither Anya had with her parents. She has lived with us for a long time." He acted as if he struggled to show a smile out of his expressions.

"Oh, dear boy, why don't you and your fiancée come to stay with us at the London Manor? The children need some new blood among all those Blacks." Irma invited in the shrinking voice she shared with her daughter Walburga, a pretty disturbing event.

"Irma, perhaps it would be better if they were allowed to mourn with Lord Riddle." Alexia recognised in her icy tone of always.

"No, no. A mourning adult cannot care for children. I will speak with him if you are not allowed. We are capable of caring for such intelligent pure young man and woman. As him as soon as you arrive, will you? Send me a response after that." The blonde witch smiled and ambled in some other direction, taking her husband with her.

"I apologise for my cousin-in-law, she is a little girl in a woman's life. Nevertheless, I know my cousin agrees with her decision, otherwise he wouldn't have permitted her to drag him. He will send a letter to you tomorrow. Perhaps a meeting should be arranged?"

"I don't think my father is in conditions to meet anyone, Lady Malfoy, but he will answer as soon as possible. Now, shall I have the honour of dancing this set with you, my lady?"

The woman laughed, accepting his hand with a good-humoured air. "I will accept your invitation, only because Abraxas has not failed to mention what a superb dancer you are. My son praising someone's dancing skills! Never thought I would live to see that day."

Tom smirked as a mazurka started to rang. Alexia Black was known for her dancing skills, and his current goal was to impress her as well. He guided her swiftly through the first steps of the dance, moving with the trained elegance he had indeed trained alone.

"My husband appears to be bored without me by his side." The woman pronounced, signalling her wish to be left with her partner in marriage at the end of the set. Tom moved his head in recognition to her request, but didn't say anything else, as it wasn't proper for a man to talk to a woman he barely knew, not while dancing.

As he returned Lady Malfoy to his housemate's father, another compliment on his behalf by her grace, Tom offered his arm to the Minister's niece, who took it gladly. A minuet began, and Tom prepared himself to the sore feet he would have to heal by the end of the night.

][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

"You see, my friends, we can move through length by folding space with magic. We can destroy mass with a single weightless charm. Temperature is just a definition of feeling and heat can be vanished or created out of thin air. We will never be able to see electricity, only the results of something we could call "magic" or "soul"…or maybe, "doggy". Light isn't wave and neither particle as it can hardly be both as well. And substance has the habit of disappearing and we even created a term for it – quintessence." Adalbert Waffling exposed, his voice high-cultured as always, in a way most people wouldn't expect from a muggleborn. But the man wasn't a common muggleborn neither, having studied at Trinity College after his graduation of Hogwarts and apprenticed with the great Transfiguration Master, Gallicius Gamp. His parents were muggle professors – his father a biologist and his mother a mathematician.

"I believe that time is just a concept created to harmonize one's trail of thoughts, much like mathematics or physics – although numbers seem the reason behind our existence, they are just a human convention, ideas thought by man that coincidentally match reality, but do not rule it." Dylan Marwood stated, his voice deep-sounding as he spoke. "Merpeople have always been able to communicate with their ancestors, not as if they were ghosts or a similar apparition on the present time; but as if those from the present projected their minds in the past, in which the ancient lived. How could this possible if time is the only true unit of measure?"

Anya could accompany the course of thoughts of two of the brightest minds in the wizarding world with some effort, even though she would never say she knew much of magical creatures' abilities – and even less of physics. "One has to admire the muggles for their creativity in their researches, even though they are unaware of so much. Hermann Weyl has spoken of one-dimensional tubes, with insides in which space doesn't exist and infinite boundaries. Voila, you have apparition by a muggle. But what interests me more is how infinite those boundaries are – and if they can cross over time just like they cross over space."

Adalbert snickered. "We have truly stumbled upon the Hour-Reversal Charm, haven't we? I would feel grateful to say with certainty that your idea is right...but I cannot. Why did Eloise Mintumble ended up in the fifteenth century forty years ago? Her conditions…in the end of the last century, a group of Unspeakables researched the effects of moving through space and time together – all the experiences were, however, cancelled when Madam Mintumble died. That is something...something went wrong."

"We all know what went wrong. The world magic suffered a decrease upon her return – at the very same moment. That leads researchers to believe that circa twenty-five people were unborn, but we have no idea who those people were." Anya quoted, having read a book on it not long ago.

"Yes, yes. But why did it go wrong? Why was such a thing so fatal when time-travelling and apparating rarely have consequences when performed alone?" Dylan inquired. "Well, my friend, it seems you can write another law of magic."

"Dylan, Mr. Toddlel has linked the Platon House's construction to the Aegean sirens however I had it as the Northen Melusine…do you mind enlightening us?" A woman with the reddest colour of curls dying potions could produce interrupted them with a her high voice crossing the chamber.

Dylan seemed revolted at the idea just exposed. "Excuse me, my friends, it seems that they have just chosen to make Atlantis their new topic of conversation, I must go before someone else spurs preconceived notions of such delicacy."

Adalbert Waffling smiled and waved his long-time friend off. "It seems the world is full of it, Nastya, doesn't it?"

"Prejudgments?" She checked over, and took a brief look around the chamber – where you would find many pure-bloods and half-bloods, but very few muggle-borns and no creatures. "They seem to grow stronger every day, unfortunately."

"Indeed." The tall wizard glanced at the centre of the ballroom, where Tom was talking with Lord Black, Lady Malfoy, Lord and Lady Lestrange. "Your friend doesn't seem to be the kind to share your opinions regarding this matter."

"He isn't. But despite being with him for all my life, I appear to be unable to change his thoughts on this subject, Master Adalbert." She sighed. "Tom is far too domineering and prideful to accept divergences."

"We are fortunate, then, that you are not a witch to be lead around." He winked at her, a boyish grin on his face. Suddenly, a blonde woman in pink robes positioned herself between both of them, Fifi LaFolle – that in her fifties, was loved by the media, and despised by intellectuals. Anya would usually trace such rejection to the patriarchal society they lived in – but really, the woman was a pain in the arse.

"It was pretty rude of Master Marwood, leaving like that." She pointed out.

"He is a scholar, Madam LaFolle, and the only way of us knowing a bit of etiquette is having some theoretical interest in it. Dylan, I fear, will never be interested by the manners of the two-footed."

"I have heard he had found a lover among those mermaids he mingles with. Is that true, will we have another Mirabella Plunkett story, genders-reversed?"

"I wouldn't know, Madam LaFolle, perhaps you should ask him?" Anya knew actually, how far that was truthful – or at least, assumed. A merman named Tristen had once written to her, an exercise proposed by Dylan to which she had been subjected as she was the only mermish-speaking witch the wizard knew, aside Aisama-sama who had isolated herself to live among tengus. The merman was constantly mentioned in letters by Dylan, but Mirabella Plunkett's story wouldn't be repeated in this case, as Tristen was married and had a daughter, and obviously only regarded the wizard as a counsellor and friend. The same thing happened in the letters Adalbert sent her, but in this case, the one constantly mentioned was Dylan himself.

Madam LaFolle held no interest in her that was much evident, easily preferring the company of willowy man of pointy chin and Roman nose, even though Adalbert had no interest in her. Anya, however, was Slytherin enough to save herself and flee as fast as possible.

Maybe Waffling wouldn't send her letters for the next months, but there was an amount of time one could stand looking at shocking pink…and hers was very tiny. Payback would be a bitch, she was sure of it, the eagle owl of the theoretician wizard wasn't a sweetheart, but she could protect herself from claws, from pink in the other hand…

She avoided the prying eyes of adults watching her, no need to be invited to dance by someone who would only gape at her…praise her actually; she didn't think nobody had ever gaped at her. Where did that idea come from?

A blonde mane of hair hit her mouth in a moment of distraction and Anya grabbed the body that had shocked against her, preventing its owner of falling. The body wore crimson robes, the skirt in the fashionable shape while the bodice was covered by a golden cape. "Nastya! Sorry for the fall and thanks for stopping it!" Wilhelmina Scrimgeour greeted in a bubbly manner that wasn't exactly her character. She could smell alcohol on the girl to tell the truth, and from what she knew of her the Gryffindor could usually hold her drink. The Slytherin wondered how much of it the older girl had had to be in that state.

Her second thought was, of course, dragging the girl of the ballroom. Being drunk on the Ministry building wasn't exactly the best thing for one's career and the girl's career could have some utility on the future. Thankfully they were nearly at the back of the chamber, and she could easily see the decorated door which supposedly led to the other departments of the ministry. She sought for Polaris before passing through it, but he was nowhere to be seen. Lawrence, however, saw her and she managed to signal for him to find the girl's boyfriend. That would be enough.

"Where is Polaris, Mina?"

"Polaris is angry. He doesn't want to keep him, you know? He doesn't love him."

"Yes, yes. Why don't we sit down and you tell me all about it?"

The smaller hall that greeted her was nearly empty – their only companions were an old man napping behind his desk, which looked to be the reception, and a man in the corner twisting his hands nervously, probably because he had the wrong thing to someone important, or was to meet this person. None of the two was paying attention to the girls.

She sat the girl out of sight nevertheless, and started the process of transfiguring one of her hair-clips into a cup, and summoning water into it. "Drink it, you are in need."

"I am just tipsy, Nastya." She said, a bit more serious and then giggled. Realising her own state, the older witch followed her orders dutifully. Three full cups latter, it was turned back into a clip, and the younger girl settled it back in her head.

"How do you feel?"

"Tipsy still. But it will make effect."

"Now, what doesn't Polaris want to keep?"

"Nothing." The girl answered quickly, her phrase followed by an awkward silence. "Thanks for helping me, I cannot believe I was so foolish."

"You are a Gryffindor, a brash bunch of buffoons and baboons, that was expected." Anya remarked scathing. The target of her insult giggled madly and Anya began to search for her hair-pin once again, in the same teasing mode.

"I cannot believe you said that: brash bunch of buffoons and baboons." She imitated. "This one is an epic insult."

"Try it."

"Very well, while helping me, you must have betrayed lots of laws of Slytherin, a guileful gang…of gorgeous goofs." She said between laughs, which rose in volume when Anya bowed in thanks to the praise.

When the giggles stopped however, Anya knew something was wrong, and she took just a moment more than the lioness to notice the appearance of two young wizards. She still held the girl quickly enough to stop her from fleeing from the scene.

Immediately after checking his girlfriend's wellbeing, Polaris Tuft kneeled in front of his girlfriend, a ring on his hand. "I love you, Wilhelmina Rae Scrimgeour, will you marry me?"

"You mean you want this baby?" She said, in a surprise tone. Her surprise was nearly matched to Anya's and Lawrence's, but happiness was her dominant emotion – something obvious by the eager way she kissed her boyfriend-fiancée.

Anya smiled at the scene even with it possible being the most awkward moment of her life. Thankfully, Lawrence cleared his throat, bringing the couple's attention to the two figures waiting for them. "Congratulations, Mina, Polaris, you are a wonderful couple, and will be wonderful parents." She told them.

"Nastya, thanks for everything, really." Wilhelmina said, overjoyed with life, apparently.

"Well, you got pregnant, you got engaged…I fear for my life after Euphie's graduation." Lawrence noted, an undying smile stamped on his face, much like the couple's expressions. "Congratulations, you saps, now Nastya and I are leaving so you can return to suck each other's face."

And that was how she was dragged by her the boyfriend of her friend's sister to another corridor. "Why are we here?"

"Sorry, I am going home, this is the way to the Floo Network. Actually I am going to bother Euphie. I didn't realise I dragged you with me. You are free to flee." He winked at her. "Merlin, they will be at the news tomorrow, if old Pittback opens his mouth – the old man faking sleep." He explained to her oblivious expression, and bidding her farewell he vanished into the firebox in the wall.

Lovers were such a rushed species. Or maybe that was a thing of Gryffindors.

She looked over the room she found herself in. It was bare of everything except decorated fireboxes, the white corridor seemed to be endless, the darker spaces on the wall following her vision until disappearing on vision. How long was that? A curiosity – that she would usually have associated with the members of the School-House of Lions – commanded her to explore the weird chamber she had been placed at.

She halted her pacing in front of a dark door, one she hadn't seen before. For goodness's sake, what was she doing? Trespassing in a government building was against of every rule of proper conduct to balls – and to everything else. Nevertheless, her hand created a will of its own, moving to the handle as if on instinct. The door wasn't locked however, so maybe that couldn't be considered trespassing. She was just…taking a walk. It wasn't as if she had to break through obstacles to arrive there.

With that thought on mind, she stepped into a circular chamber with black-tiled walls, dark marble floor, illumination provided by light blue flamed candles, and eleven handless doors. As the twelfth door closed behind her, the walls began a wild dance of rotation, and suddenly she was looking to twelve doors, none with handles.

Now would be a good moment to get out.

The first door she opened in her search for the exit was a dark room full of planets floating in the mid-air. She snickered, remembering the conversation she had had with Masters Marwood and Waffling not long ago – her snicker, surprisingly, made no sound. Interesting. She opened her mouth in an attempt to speak, but nothing was uttered by it.

The idea of shooting a Reducto Curse on Pluto seemed to be a rather comforting thing to do – which was strange, she had always found the tiny planet a bit cute – yet she had no idea if she would be capable of performing it wordlessly.

In the centre of the room, a giant ball of fire shinned prettily, but hotter at every step she took. Incredibly hotly, she decided near the copy of Venus, and terribly cold near the copy of Mars. Earth was where she belonged, she concluded, and quickly returned to the entrance when her ability to breath began to be questioned.

The second door led to a long, rectangular room, lit by low-hanging lamps. It was flooded by a green solution, in which brain swam. She quickly closed this door, as they were hardly touch-friendly and she had no wish to flood the entrance.

A large, square room was the next she visited and definitely the most comforting. Dimly lit, a archway with tattered curtain stood at pit in the middle of the chamber. She could hear whispers coming from it. She could see a tall woman of long hair, nose crooked and a man with twinkling eyes, his aquiline nose catching attention. A man with sallow skin and large hooked nose at the side of woman with thin pale face and heavy brows. An auburn woman with bright green eyes and a man of black hair and hazel eyes, those surrounded by a man of black hair and grey eyes, a woman with pink hair her hands given to a man with light brown hair and green eyes, and a man who was blonde and blue eyed.

A woman with dark hair, her eyes hazel and downturned; a man with brunette messy hair and green eyes. A gangly man with dark wavy hair. Figures seemed to come and go in her presence, and her head felt heavy as more whispered little things to her; they didn't seem to be there most of them, almost as if she imagined them. A woman with dull hair, her eyes with exotropia stopped however, between the tatters of curtain, she seemed as wicked as pitiful, her image fading and materialising. She opened her mouth and pain took over Anya's head, like a sharp needle being buried into her brain.

She leaned back the wall, shutting the door with a pang and sitting on the floor. Her head throbbed as she tried to exit the place, only to stumble upon a pile of sand. Down, down, down, sand suffocated her as she fell through the mountain that it had formed, images swimming through her mind and words being repeated. She could see death and destruction, bombs and funerals. She saw births and tears, weddings and laughter. And everything she didn't see, it was because she closed her eyes.

A flower groweth to the destined height. He that causeth her to grow also causeth her to fade. This happens to thee, for Magic hath therewith adorned thee, that thy coming up should be known, and also how thou has come to nought. For before thou wast, Magic hath known thee and therefore compared thee to a flower, that to-day is in bloom and to-morrow is withered. Wisdom and Fear would have preserved thee, but thou has overlooked it, thine own wisdom hath seduced thee.

The words repeated through her head vanished from it as sand fell at her side, and a giant crystal jar in front of her. Inside of it, a blue bird chipped as it carried to the top of it, but as it began to fell, its feathers became damp and its corpse fell on the bottom. Locked in a ball, the body became an egg, and the egg a little bird as it rose – and everything began again. Anya watched in fascination as death and life alternated between themselves in the space of a minute. The mountain of sand seemed so disruptive of that cycle to her, and walked through the door in daze.

This time, the door led her to the white corridor. Disturbed by the whole experience, she made her way back in large steps. The old man Lawrence called Pittback still seemed to be sleeping – although, if Diggory was right, he never had been – while the anxious man was nowhere to be seen. Neither were Wilhelmina or Polaris, but that was expected from a couple that had just gotten engaged.

She walked through the door, her figure being immediately seen by Tom, and asked to dance with him. She danced, she was awarded. She spoke many nothings to much older people she didn't care about. She accepted the invitation of Lady Black to spend the rest of the holidays in their London Manor. But her mind never left what had happened in the Department of Mysteries behind (because that had to be the mysterious department).

That night, she had many dreams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has almost 10k words. I refuse to update this fanfic until I have 105 reviews from it; and yes, I know I am being petty.
> 
> Have a great 2017!


	24. Author Note

Hello,

It’s been a long time since I last updated this story. I must apologize for all of you, and also say may thanks to all those who encouraged me since I began to write this fanfiction, even in my long absence. As some may see, despite not being a native speaker of English - and not that good in writing the form of it - I am a dramatic writer (or non-writer), and I always enjoyed this aspect of Byron’s language.

Now some explanations. Before I even stopped updating I was feeling disheartened by my attempts of writing. I am an Engineering student at the moment, but when I started writing, first my own, unpublished, book of 400 pages I didn’t aim for that. I always mingled with creativity, and ideas but as I matured in my teenager years that creativity was almost murdered by myself. Today, my reading material is mostly business books, biographies and historical novels. The Wall of Time is probably my last dangling in arts, and during 2017 I felt frustrated with this. Some people are born artists, and some people feel the lure of art but are never able to breathe it. As I see now, I will never be an artist, and I don’t know if I will ever finish this fic. If someone wishes, please contact me, I can send my plans for it and who knows – maybe someone will be able to finish it. I will update this week all I have written of it, but that will be all.

I don’t have any real excuse for my absence, besides maturity. I have seen many of my favourite authors in this website to leave unfinished works for real struggles, family and dilemmas like that. That is not my case. I have struggled with the concept of fem!Harry for a while, and I the out-of-character portrayal of Harry I have made, for that it’s a vice of mine. Yet, since the beginning of this fic, I have not hit a block as many have. I still know where I would take this story, and what path it would take. Once I had the concept and the body of it drawn, this story was unable to interest me much more. I will not reveal what I had in my mind for the wholeness of it would be much more than I can imagine in here. If you wish, PM me with questions, maybe I will be able to explain them.

Once more, I must thank all of you who supported me.

Riona (whose real name is Theodora).


	25. Twenty-Fourth Hour

The Black Library was grandiose. Nothing near Hogwarts’s, of course, but exquisite nevertheless. When they had arrived on the 20th, Dorea had assured them they had the freedom to make full use of it – although Anya was sure nobody had expected it to be visited in the middle of dawn. Like the remaining of the townhouse, it had dark wooden wall panels and floor. A large chandelier hang from the ceiling, and between the bookcases, scones fixed to the walls held candles. At the centre of the chamber, an imperial purple tapestry was stepped by loveseats and armchairs, around which candles floated.

One of these candles followed Anya through the library as she selected her reading materials. She was unsettled by what she constantly saw in Morpheus’s realm, and it was increasingly difficult to differentiate her dreams from reality. They seemed to follow a sequence by now, or to be more specific, they were regressing.

A cupboard that confined her world. The few times she managed to leave this place, she was being followed.  Her steps were always from front to back, and despair sunk those as she moved. She wasn’t ready for the night before, however. She had seen a green light flashing.

A man in a cloak being hit by one of those green spells, the killing curse. The baby hadn’t been hit, but it was staring to a corpse of a woman on the floor. The corpse had been alive seconds before, just as the man who had killed her.

 ** _“Uoy sevol amam.”_** Mama loves you; her brain had provided her in the same instant. 

Was she remembering how she had ended up in the orphanage? But that didn’t make sense, the baby she saw there had the same green-eyes of her, the same hair, same nose and lips, but it was much older than the age she supposedly had when she arrived at the orphanage. And she would never remember anything at such young age. Was that a vision? The baby could be her child.

Was she seeing her death?

No, the corpse had red hair. Well, it had her eyes however. Maybe she had painted her hair?  No, she didn’t think she would grow up to look like that. Perhaps, that had happened in a distant past. Or would happen in a distant future. Perhaps, the baby looking like her was just a coincidence. She couldn’t presume she would die at young age just because a vision. Despite those assurances, she couldn’t stop herself from shaking.

She needed to see more.

The Blacks, not surprisingly, had a huge collection of books on divination. Astronomy, the field they were specialised in, had a close-bond with astrology, a field of divination. In fact, according to the diary of Antares Black, the stars and planets should be observed during a Black woman’s pregnancy in order to predict the baby’s future. It was from there that the tradition of naming Black’s after celestial objects was born – the one that shined the brightest, or were nearest, at the day of the child’s birth usually was chosen.  

She doubted astrology would help her to control her dreams, but she should be able to find books in other fields of divination as well, even if they were lacking in number. She found some in Xylomancy and others in Ovomancy, but she had no use for those either. _What Blood Tells Us_ she had selected as a reading, it was the first time she had come across a book on Aímamancy. _The Lucid Dream_ was the next title she had selected, a guide one how to control one’s dreams, which was promising, even though the author enunciated the practice of oneroimancy was impossible when the control was attained.

Just as she reached for the light-coloured spine of a book, whose title she could not make out in the dim light, the sound of books falling reached her ears and Anya stopped dead on her feet. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t allowed to be there, but she didn’t want to be found there regardless of this. It was an odd behaviour, and she had no need to be categorised as freakish in the wizarding world as well.

She blew out the candle that was following her, leaving the library no less illuminated – but less closely illuminated than before. Something grasped her shoulder and she yelped, jumping on her feet to see who had caught her.

Her finder was an unknown woman – possibly the most beautiful woman she had seen in life. Intense blue eyes stared at her as if searching for something, while crimson lips babbled nonsensical things. The hair was a mess, tousled no doubt, and ink black curls fell to the floor. She had a masculine figure, her face sipping into perfect androgyny. She wore a loose nightgown, and deep gashes on her arms soaked the clothing of the sleeves.

That hand, still resting on her shoulders, suddenly sank nails on the flesh. Anya hissed in pain, grabbing the offensive grip and forcing it out of her body. Her eyes caught the sight of those hands. Her hands were disgusting as her face was gorgeous. Curved claw-like nails dirtied by dry and fresh blood, thousands of cuts created a patchwork of skin and pus.

The woman smiled at her, perfect teeth in bliss of happiness that seemed to ignore the mutilations on her body. “Pretty girl…pretty lost.” She whispered. “Aren’t you very rather out of here?”

Anya dropped the hand she was still holding when blood began to roll into her own hand. Her blood, she noticed, while she felt the clothing over her shoulder being drenched by it. She stepped backwards. The woman giggled. _Insanity._

“Who are you?”  She asked, her shoulder trembled in pain. Merlin, that bitch had a hard grip.

“Me is me. You are you?”  She cackled.

The woman was obviously a Black, but Anya didn’t think Dorea had ever spoken of this relative to her. “Obviously.” She spat while the other giggled, taking her wand of the holster. The woman trembled, her head shaking.

“Don’t.”

“I am going to heal myself.” She explained, forgetting her anger at the woman at the frightened look in her eyes. She transfigured a book in a mirror, and made it float to reflect the wound. She lighted the candle, pushing it with her wand in order to make it hover over her shoulder. She contained her urge to swear. It was a deep wound. No wonder, with those claws as nails. “Tergeo.” She said, vanishing the blood. “Sanetur.” She commanded, knitting the tissues back. She swung her arms back and forth, testing the results, satisfied with it, she transfigured the book back and allowed the candle to wander.

“Aunt Lycoris.” A voice called out, and both witches turned to see Dorea at the entrance of the aisle, her body as tense as her voice. “Ria-ria.” The woman babbled.

“Nastya, are you alright?”

“I just made me.” She assured the girl, whose eyes locked with the wand she still had out. Anya faltered a bit – pointing one’s wand to a member of the family who was hosting her wasn’t exactly educated. But Dorea didn’t seem to be angry, no, she was…surprised, shocked even.

“She didn’t react to the wand?”

“She protested a bit, but I had to heal myself.” Anya informed her friend.

“Did she try to take your wand?”

“No.” Dorea was obviously shocked by her answer.

“Could you....try to heal her?” The younger Black was ashamed by her request, but nevertheless, she looked hopeful. Anya could only agree, after all, what kind of friend denied such simple request?

Carefully approaching Lycoris with her wand in hands, Anya began to whisper cleaning spells, ignoring the woman’s refuses, as they were muttered softly. The woman trembled when the first bout of magic walked through her skin, but she kept still. Anya looked at her friend and, taking advantage of the hazel-eyed witch encouragement, she started to mutter healing spells. The wounds all seemed recent, which could only mean that the woman had go through a recent torture, that her descent to madness was recent, or that some kind of paste was applied daily to heal – pastes had slow-effects, and would have vanished only older wounds, the newer would be only in the process of disappearing.

When only the claw-like remained as a characteristic of the woman’s ugliness, Anya put her wand back in place. Lycoris looked truly beautiful now, and Dorea instructed a house-elf to guide the woman back to her room.

“She is my cousin, even though I call her aunt.” Dorea explained as they both watched the black-haired beauty walk out of the library. “My true cousin, not thrice-removed or whatever. Thirty-six years old, she used to take care of me when I was little. She was not that insane, mind you.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know exactly, I was seven and nobody told me at the time. Everybody refuses to talk about it now. She had an accident with a spell – that I know.” She smiled sadly. “I looked up to her. She was very powerful, beautiful and friendly. The kind of girl that was friends with everyone, you know, much like you. Exactly like you. She was like the sister I wish I had had.”

“Don’t experiment too much with magic, Nastya. Promise me that.” She said, eyeing the books Anya had selected. “You have many dreams, don’t you? I see you, sometimes, waking up.”

“They are not dreams like that.” Anya defended poorly.

Dorea sniggered. “Right, and that’s why you have a notebook in which you write each one of them.”

“I won’t go mad, Dora.” She assured her friend, her hands closing around those of the other girl. “I promise this.”

Dorea shook her head, hugging Anya loosely. “Maybe we are all mad here, and Lycoris is the sane one. Thank you.” _For healing her. For your promise. For understanding._ “How are you feeling?”

“I am alright, nothing that a few spells couldn’t heal.” She repeated.

“Not about that. I couldn’t ask early, I am sorry, Cygnus just ran into your direction – he was very excited to meet you.” They both chuckled. “But seriously, how are you feeling?”

 “I am alright, Dora. We weren’t that close, to me they have always felt like relatives – caring, loving relatives, but distant nevertheless. Tom is my family.”

“And how is Tom’s father taking it?”

“Father is a passionate man, and more stubborn than most. He will deal with the loose, or he won’t – but that will be purely his decision.” Tom voice suddeny warned them that they had company. “My father is not a very sociable man, perhaps I have already mentioned.”

“You did.” The girl nodded finally satisfied with their words. “But seriously, it’s like 6 o’clock and this library has never been so crowded. Only you two.” She shook her head in amusement. “We all can see Nastya was reading about divinantion, but what about you, Tom?”

“I was researching family trees. I had to find a name – Apollaros Akakios, perhaps you know of him.”

“Never heard about.” Dorea commented.

“Well, no surprise there – he was an alchemist that lived three thousand years ago in Greece.”

“I am not going to ask how you came across this name – I don’t want to know. Unbelievable, you both.” Dorea continued her exasperation, while Anya and Tom traded meaningful looks. Anya was completely aware that Tom had no interest in an ancient alchemist. He was searching about his family.

And he had found something.

[][][].[][][].[][][].[][][].[][][].[][][].[][][].[][][]

_Pas d'échec._

Ragnar Lestrange read his family motto, a pensieve frown in his persona. The Lestrange family had three of those, actually. The Latin one, _Fortuna est nostra_ , which meant _Fortune is ours._ The words his ancestor had spoken when he had left France: _Nous reviendrons_ translated as _We will be back._ But it was the words signed down in every family crest that interested him the most.

_No failure._

His father was the embodiment of failure however, and Ragnar loathed him for that. The Lestranges weren’t a family whose history could be traced back to the tenth century, despite having bought the title of Most Ancient House with their money. All prestige they had was due their riches.  It was a known fact in the wizarding society, and a taboo as well. They were the wealthiest family of Great Britain, after all, and even the Malfoys couldn’t deny that. When Arnaud Lestrange had left France, less than two hundred years ago, he had been a common pure-blood politician, chased out the country by his enemies. In a century, they had become the third richest family of Europe and now his father promised to be their ruin.

Ragnar glanced at the end of the stairway in which he stood. He could see the figures of his father and his many friends, all interested in taking a bit of the Lestrange money to home that day. Vultures, all of them. His mother wasn’t there thankfully, but soon Reimond Lestrange would have lost five hundred galleons, and Ragnar would be unable to keep the house-elves of warning her. And then she would arrive, seducing the man to an agreement.

It disgusted him – how is father would bend to sex, and sex only. It also irked him – because Ragnar was a product of this marriage, and his mind was perverted as the man and the woman who had given birth to him.  He felt dirty because of them.

His annoyance grew when his father’s laughter reached his ears, inebriated by the cognac in his glass. “Have you heard about the Esident’s dismiss? The Dark Lord tortured them into madness, and after transforming their corpses into inferi, he burnt the whole state. Oh, the _glorious_ house of Esident burnt into ashes – a joyful day to the Lestranges, indeed.” The sickening voice of Caligula Carrow whispered in his father’s ears.

Reimond Lestrange laughed. “I drink to that, finally, my family’s debt is settled.” At least, the man could recognise his family’s past. The Esidents had been the ones to expulse the Lestranges out of the country, after all.

“You still have to attend one of Marat’s balls, Reimond. You owe the Dark Lord a thank you gift, my friend. I assure you will never regret when we free the world of the impure blood that taints it; only the best shall endure. Only with the Dark Lord the filth shall perish.”

His father’s response held a mocking tone. “The Dark Lord cleaning the world? Is he a hou-“

Ragnar swiftly appeared in their vision’s space, walking down the stairway in a graceful pace. “Mr. Carrow, Mr. Crabbe and my, my, Iohan Prince, what an _honour._ ” He interrupted the Lord of his family, before he dug their family in a deeper grave the monetary one. “Slugus Eructo.” H hit his father with the lovely curse, and the man was vomiting slugs in a moment. “It seems my father is rather unwell. “Perhaps you should leave, so I can treat him into health and then catch a train.  Can you believe it, Iohan? In two years your niece will be catching the same train I am required to catch today, you must be excited.”

The man ignored the jab, looking at the slugs climbing through Lord Lestrange’s throat and gathering his part in the earnings of the night before, and this morning. Carrow and Crabbee soon followed the other’s led, the former leaving one lone galleon in table – his father’s earnings. Ragnar had seen his father’s money the night before, and in comparison to today, some hundreds were lacking.

“I would take care of it well, Mr. Lestrange.” Caligula Carrow said, pocketing the galleons back. “Or you might end up losing it.”

Ragnar was not sure if the man had spoken of his father or of more money. If the former, Ragnar would gladly let it go. If the latter, he had only one answer to that.

_We will be back._

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It was the 24th day of August, Anya remembered very well. So far, muggle Londoners had often heard local gunfire, or seen vapour trails of dogfights in the sky, or heard about the war and the bombings. Witches and wizards had heard about inferi raiding villages, families of muggles, muggle-borns and blood-traitors being beheaded. Anya was different. She had fought – she had won, and she had experienced mass-death. She had experienced the cruelty of Grindelwald – of wizardkind.

She wasn’t ready for the ruthlessness of the muggles, though.

The day had been a complicated war day – the muggles had heard about it on radio. Wizards and witches had not. It was late in the night when the first aircrafts came, raiding through the sky.  Some of those had appeared earlier that day, but they had been faraway, and at the time, they had been easily classified as birds or whatever.

Anya had been reading at her bed, nightgown drapped over her body and scrying mirrors around her. The script in her hands was used to help her to reach the superconscious – a practice she had taken up to perform every night, before sleeping. It gave her more control over her dreams, and she had seen the street where the house in which the murder she had seen happened. She hadn’t written about that specific dream in the notebook, not feeling ready to share what could be the vision of her own death with Tom.

 _Tom._ That brought her thoughts to the things Tom had discovered. No, she couldn’t lose focus now, no wandering thoughts in that direction.

At the end of the bed, a card deck laid forgotten. Even though she held some affection for those beautiful cards, cartomancy wasn’t an art that provided specific results.

She heard the cries before she thought about the planes. And she felt the impact before she opened the door of her suite. Dorea was at her doorway in the same moment. “What was that?” The girl asked, her skin white as sheet.

“A bomb. The muggles are bombing London.”

“What is a bom?”

“A bomb.” Anya corrected. “It causes an explosion.” She explained, off-handily. She grabbed her friend’s arms and pulled her into the corridor. Tom was walking out of his own rooms, his face frozen in terror. “Do you know where it was dropped?”

“I would say some streets down here.” Tom guessed. “The house has wards, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know how a bomb works, but it has the common set.” Dorea informed. Anya contained her urge to swear. The common set of wards was basically anti-apparation, anti-muggle and anti-thievery. Nothing that would contain a bomb. “ _At least no nazi will invade this house when they take over England.”_ She hissed under her breath.

“I don’t think any wizard has already tested how effective wards are against bombs.” Anya noted. “Where are the others?”

“The filthy muggles are attacking us? They dare!” Walburga shrieked, Alphard closely following her, his hands linked to his little brother’s, Cygnus. Despite her whims, it was clear she was frightened by the impact. “What do we do?” Alphard questioned, seeking their eyes in guidance.

“We kill the muggles, of course!” Walburga, again. The house trembled and a baby wailed somewhere. It wasn’t the only one.

“You will gather your things.” Pollux Black rushed. “Dora, floo everyone to Blackthorn safely. Irma and I will erect some wards and follow you. Go.”

 Anya stepped into her rooms back again, summoning her belongings to her trunk. For some moments, robes and books danced wildly in the air, floating madly. Her windows were slammed open and she watched as something whistled heavily, falling from the skies. The world was burning.

The aircrafts roamed across the sky in heavy thunders, and suddenly one of those planes had thrown a bomb in the house in front of them. Anya stared at it, frozen in her place, her wand forgotten by her side.

She was going to die. All those nights wasted to see her death, when she could have allowed her dreams to show this attack. To prevent everyone’s death.  It was Hogsmeade all again.

“Protego!” A voice shouted by her side. A shield stopped the pieces of wooden and rock of hitting her, debris scattered around her feet when the shield was dropped. Hands grabbed her arm and pulled her through the corridor to a fireplace.

Anya glanced at Tom, who had been the one who had saved her. He was keeping a shield around them – Walburga, Alphard, Dorea, Cygnus, Anya and himself – Lord and Lady Black nowhere to be seen. Dorea triggered the floo connection, and handed a vessel with powder to her youngest nephew.

“Blackthorn State, Gus.” Dorea reminded him, and an instant after the boy had disappeared in the flames. Alphard was the next one, and he walked into the flames with practiced ease, his elder sister soon following him.

Irma Black ran into the room, her cousin-in-law Lycoris screaming madly, her body jerking in movements that were just _wrong._ Pollux followed her, casting wards here and there.

 _“I will stay behind with Black and cast some wards of my own.”_ Tom told her in parseltongue. _“You know you have to go, the crazy shrew won’t go without you.”_

Anya nodded and took Lycoris Black by her hand. Grabbing the Floo powder, she threw it at the flames and pronounced her destination. A moment later, she was stepping into an airy chamber, the scent of wet grass a drastic change from the smell of ash and smoke.

Callidora smiled quietly at her, as she helped Anya to free herself from her cousin, whose nails hand once again found their place deeply in the green-eyed witch’s flesh.  Cedrella took a hold of her cousin, and Anya stared at the kind gunmetal blue orbs that were the eyes of the older twin.

“Shh, it’s alright now.”

Anya couldn’t utter any word, but she flung her arms around the brunette witch, and cried in her arms. Callidora could only caress her back as she calmly soothed the nerves of the younger girl.


	26. Twenty-Fifth Hour

The first time Abraxas Malfoy had seen Tom Riddle and Anastasia Donbyre after the Summer of 1940, had been at the Hogwarts Express. The first thing he noticed was how different those two were. 

Nastya Donbyre had probably reached somewhere near her full height – disappointedly 5’1 feet or somewhere in between. Most of girls in their year were taller than that, except perhaps by Brianna, and Maeve Kearney, the latter hadn’t reached puberty though, that was obvious. There weren’t many curves there, but that wasn’t unexpected for the age. The short bob she had created after becoming a heroine was just a memory. Her hair was straighten to perfection, brushed back, the tips reaching the end of her scapula. She wore the school robes, including the Slytherin green Houppelande of their house – something that he never had seen her wearing, despite Dorea’s insistence. The insignia of the Order of Merit was pinned to her chest, and it was obvious she had go for a reliable image.

The face was beautiful as always nevertheless, even though the absent semblance she had carried since the Hogsmeade attack had deepened. Abraxas remembered the girl he had meet at eleven, she seemed much more decided than this witch in front of him, but the one he was in presence at the moment had a lost image that he found endearing. The one he had first seen knew what she wanted, from where she had come, to where she wished to go. This one had lost her away, her devilish lips withdrawn from reality, and her bright eyes focused in nowhere.

Abraxas smirked. This was a girl he could show the way – a girl he could lead to greatness.

Tom Riddle had changed as much as Anastasia had. But the wizard was more powerful, and he reeked of danger and ruthlessness. Even in the Slytherin colours, he was all dark, shades of shadow against his pale skin. Ink-coloured hair arranged in perfect waves elegantly crossing the head. His indigo eyes had no mercy, no pity, no affection, no emotions at all. Tom Riddle was a cold mask, and a seducing body of magic.  The man in front of him had always knew what he wanted, and now he would do absolutely anything to achieve it. At 5´9 feet, the wizard was taller than every single student of their year, and ambitious than the whole school.

Abraxas shivered. That was a man who would lead the heir of Malfoys to greatness.

“Abraxas Malfoy, you have come to us. How was Switzerland in this summer?” Dorea Black inquired, when her eyes settled on his form. Dorea Lyra Black – that was a girl he had known before being able to form a word. She would become a tall woman, probably willowy as her mother, and a great witch. Not the best of the wives, of that he was rather sure. Too much like his mother.

“Provincial, but pleasant enough, I assure you.” It was true, his visit to the country had been a favourable surprise. It was the first time he did not visit France in the summer – the Malfoy’s country house on France had been occupied by Grindelwald. Well, occupied was not the term actually. His father’s cousin had ceded the property in order to assure his allegiance to the Dark Side. His father had been furious with cousin Argon – their family did not allege themselves with Dark Lords, not when their fall of power was just a matter of time.

Abraxas admired his father’s prudence and sapience, but he had to wonder what would be the reasonable course of action when facing a Dark Lord whose fate was uncertain, and whose success was possible. He did suspect what Octavius Malfoy would answer to such questioning: that all authoritarian reigns were doomed in their inability to fool opposition.

Sometimes, Abraxas had to wonder if reluctance wouldn’t doom society before tyranny. 

“Can you believe this is already our third year?” Dorea’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Can you believe we still have five years of school to go?” Orion groaned at her side, being immediately shushed by his aunt. The Black boy rolled his eyes and decided to search for Nott and Rowle. Good riddance, he couldn’t believe someone months older than him could be that childish.

“Which electives did you choose?” Nastya questioned, resting her head on Dorea’s shoulder, while Tom reached for her hand, and motioned for her head to settle on his body. Shrugging, the girl did what her fiancée asked. Weird, they hadn’t been so touchy before.

“Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes.” Ragnar answered, beginning a round of listing electives. Out of all of them, only Nastya, Brianna and he wouldn’t be in Care of Magical Creatures. Dorea had picked Arithmancy as well, as had done Antonin, Tom and Nastya. His classmates in Ancient Runes would be Tom, Nastya, Ragnar and Brianna. Together with him in Divination would be Nastya and Brianna. It was the only class that Tom wouldn’t be breathing above his fiancée neck, and Abraxas did not miss the look the dark haired wizard sent him.

If the Slytherin princess suffered a split nail in the class, Abraxas would regret being born. Suddenly he began to wonder if Arithmancy wouldn’t have been a sounder choice. Suddenly, the girl he was supposed to protect in class woke up from her slumber, her breath harsh and her eyes panicked.

Dorea reached for the other girl’s knuckles. “It’s alright, you had a nightmare.”

Anastasia pulled away. “I need to take a bit of fresh air.” She declared, not waiting for an answer while she walked out their cabin, Tom following her.

][][][][][][][][][][][][]

The scenery seemed to be pulled backward as the train ran forward. The rear of the Hogwarts Express was usually a competed place to be in, but a few hexes in some Gryffindors had vacated it. Tom leaned over the door while he watched Anya shuffling her deck of cards.

“You had a vision.”

“An attack on the Hogwarts Express.” She answered, aware that the wizard had reached for his wand. “Not today, it was snowing.” September 1st of that year was a surprisingly sunny day. She threw the cards into the air and they were taken by the wind.

“Accio.” She summoned three cards to her right hand, and the remaining of the deck to her left.

“What do they mean?”

“The nine of swords is depression and nightmares. The Judgment is my card, it’s always there for me, symbolizes, obviously, rebirth and inner calling . The Tower is the card of disaster and collapse.” She declared. “This is my future. Want to try?”

“They are rather vague, your visions are way more precise. The attack – this year?”

“Probably, we haven’t aged much. And the future is way better soaked by uncertainty.” She said, throwing the cards in the railway, again. “Give it a try.”

“Can you say if the train was going to London or to Hogwarts?”

“It’s difficult to distinguish the landscape in the summer, with everything green and light. This land covered by white, no way in hell I will be able to tell. But it will happen, and blood will cover the snow.”

“You won’t tell anyone.”

“What if someone of our friends dies?”

“Are we unable to prevent the future? The answer is not. If it means to happen, it will happen. We can only take advantage of it.”

“Summon the cards, then.”

“Accio.” The cards flew to the waiting hands of Anya, who showed them to him.

“You got The Emperor in a reversed position, symbolizing excessive control and domination. Then we have The Death and The Devil. Why does this not surprise me?”

Tom did not answer her, it was a purely rhetorical question.

][][][][][][][][][][][][]

The owl with the Ministry seal. Everybody had grown used to those since the beginning of the war – they were called the “M” letters, and every member of the British population dreaded the oncoming moment they would receive one of them. In the muggle world, in the first Saturday of September, London would discover that the bombing it had experienced in August had been just a preview of what was coming – in September 7, the period history would call The Blitz began.

The wizarding world, however, had already experienced a heavy lost at Tuesday’s night. In the morning of the day after, the results of that were ninety-two “M” letters being carried by owls, and a compulsory delivery of the Daily Prophet to every student.

Grindelwald had simultaneously broken into Azkaban and Abakansk, the British and Russian high-confinement prisons. The servants who served him had immediately fled to the East Coast, and took over the counties of Yorkshire and Durham, using a sacrificial ritual to raise unreachable walls surrounding the area. The thing with such kind of sacrificial ritual, and the reason they were so frowned upon, was because they required magical blood to be spilled in order to be effective.

In result, almost two hundred lives had been lost in the night. To a population that didn’t go over the twenty thousands, such lose could prove to be irreparable.

Anya looked over Callidora. Blackthorn State was at the west hillside of the Pennine Chain, barely in Cumbria. The fifth year hadn’t received any “M” letter, but that did not mean her family was not in extreme risk. The witch caught her eyes, showing a letter in her hands. It had the Black seal, and it was obviously sent by her parents.

“They are fine; the attack did not go over the peaks. Uncle Polaris and Aunt Irma will be returning to order to seal the wards of Grimmauld Place.  Then, they will restore the wards of Great Ganilly Castle to its full splendour, and make it the family home for the time. My parents refuse to leave the manor, but they will fortify the wards as well.”

Harfang had approached her by that moment, as had done Caspar Crouch to his fiancée. Cedrella was nowhere to be seen. Harfang had grown in that summer, at two days before his fourteenth birthday, he was around the 5’7 feet, and in his letters he had talked about a sword-fighting instructor. Such training was evident in the process of removing the fat of his cheeks. The crook in the nose was also new, and probably from the same source. He gave her a kiss on forehead, and kissed Callidora’s cheek.

 “Master Arcturus and Madam Lysandra are headstrong couple, I must note.” The Gryffindor said, eliciting a small smile from his fiancée, before touching her in the shoulder. “They will be fine, Ally, you are aware your father mastery with runes is not for show.”

Dorea agreed with that. “I hope my brother dearest remembers of this fact and requests his help, while casting.”

“Where is your twin sister, Callidora. Is she lowering herself once again?” Crouch questioned his future sister-in-law, his own future wife quietly resting her hand on his arm, much like a bracelet on a woman’s wrist. The older sibling twitched at the sight of her sister submissiveness – a trait of younger Black sister that annoyed a lot the eldest of trio.

Suddenly, Cedrella Black walked through the doors of the Great Hall, her clothes rumpled, and Septimus Weasley following her. She saw a rumpled piece of paper at her sister’s hand, and her mouth opened in shock; horror took over her face, and she retreated back to the corridors, running away.

“I must clarify this with her.” Callidora announced, rising up from her seat and following her sibling. Just as she left, Charlus arrived, and one of the remaining owls went down to meet and deliver his letter.

His “M” letter.

Anya had only met with Henry and Anemone Potter once in life, and now, that would be the only time. She had envied their happiness, the love they felt for their family. She remembered his brother, the scruffy looking Gryffindor that was now in his second-year. They were orphans now.

“Oh Merlin, not with Charlie.” Harfang muttered at her side. “I will go after him, find Fleamont, if you will.”

Anya nodded, and both her and Dorea rose from her seats in search for the younger scion of House Potter. “They are orphans, now.” Dorea spoke as she cast a locating spell to point the direction of the boy. _Like you_ were the words she did not need to speak in order to them be understood.

“And just like me, they have no relative on his father’s side. Anemone Potter was born in the Derwent family, wasn’t she? What is the situation of his mother’s family?”

“I believe their Madam Derwent is still alive. But Potter must assume the position as Head of the Potters. He is immature to the task, and the Derwents have no lordship, hence his mother family will be unable to guide him through the process.”

“Now would be a good time for you to make peace with him, once again. I believe I wasn’t around when your friendship turned sour, for the hundredth time since its beginning.”

“In the Summer Break, the prat decided to make a fuss because he found me seeking for Abraxas’s birthday gift in Diagon Alley. And when we meet, I hadn’t bought his gift. So, because he is six days older I have to buy his gift before? Sincerely, anything related to Quidditch satisfies his tastes, Abraxas has taste.”

They found Fleamont Potter trying to sneak into one of the abandoned Potions lab, his ravenclaw friend Lyall Lupin with the head buried into a book of law. Gently, they lead the younger boy back to his dorm, where his brother told him about the terrible faith that had fallen upon their family. And Dorea went to Charlus when tears stained his face, in a surprising show of affection to someone who couldn’t stop to bicker with him.

But maybe, it was meant to be like that.

][][][][][][][][][][][][]

They had not cancelled the classes that time. The students whose family had been murdered had been excused from  them for the day, most in order to deal with their households. But the professors had learnt that cancelling the classes only increased the fear. An idle mind is the Dementor’s prison, after all.

Because of that, Abraxas watched while Anastasia wrote furiously on her journal. Eoessa Cadogan had glued herself to the Slytherin side as soon they had arrived in the Divination Tower, and they were discussing the combat in Scarborough – one of the seven battles that had begun the day before. Grindelwald had gone rough on them, in ways that could not be imagined. Occupying two counties in one night could seem unbelievable. But the wizarding population of those counties was scarce, and there was only one wizarding town in the area. In Merwyn’s Staff, anti-apparation wards had been erected before the beginning of the battle, and a controlled fiendfyre had stopped the arrival of the auror and hitwizard troops. The inhabitants had been slaughtered to zero, as a sacrifice to isolate both counties from Britain.

 The real battles had occurred in the manors and houses of pure-blood and half-blood families. But living in isolation was not a good deal when troops of wizards began to cast against your property. Those people had put up a fight the habitants of Merwyn’s Staff hadn’t, but those families had perished in the end, as well.

 _The Slaughter in Yorkham_ , was how the Daily Prophet had called.

“Do you think Professor Myradd will see potential in me?” Brianna asked him in her most annoying tone, as they entered in the classroom.

The chamber was located in the top of the North Tower, the ceiling was a high dome, large bands of morning blue voile dropped from it. It seemed highly non-functional, as the pieces of fabric formed flowing columns in the middle of the chamber, and he had to guess it’d make harder watching the students.  Mirrors covered the walls, amplifying the space to the infinite. They reflected the light that entered through the oculus. The round tables were covered by plum batiste tablecloths; the ottomans around those were burgundy. The chamber had a heavy scent of incense.

“Sit down, all of you. I am Violet Myradd, and you will call me Mistress Myradd. Divination is not an art that can be learn, mind you, wizards and witches that are blessed with the Inner Eye  are called Seers, as you must know. I true Seer has not been born in decades, and I doubt I will find one among you.” Such an encouraging speech on the beginning.

Mistress Myradd was a willowy young woman, her skin a dark ebony tone and her face angular, the tips of her black hair flowing around her jaw. She seemed hard, and her eyes were black almost. She wore fit robes with shoulder pads, made of satin in the colour of sand.

“However, many non-seers have a considerable success in their predictions, if they learn the methods correctly. That is the reason why I seem to come by new students every year. The most successful method to non-seers is astrology – we are, after all, unable to interfere with the paths of the cosmos. This is the field of divination that centaurs use in their predictions, and a field I will not broach until you have finished your fourth year studies of astronomy. Do not groan, Ms. Plunkett, because you wouldn’t understand anything about it if I explained now.”

“This year we will experiment with cartomancy, oneroimancy, pyromancy, heptelomogy, hydromancy and try our hands in palmistry. In your fourth year, we will study ovomancy, ornithomancy, myomancy and ichthomancy – the four pillars of animal divination. Aside that, we will have some tea at tessomancy. Aímamancy, astrology and catoptromancy will be studied at fifth year. If you achieve a noteworthy grade in the O.W.L.s, you will have the opportunity to continue this course, and dive deeply in the layers of the future. I must observe I accept only student that have reached Exceeds the Expectations in the tests – and my sixth year class has only five students. In the seventh year, I have four. Yes, Mr. Von Rheticus?”

“I don’t believe I have ever heard of aímamancy, Mistress Myradd. ”

“Aíma means blood, in Greek. Aímamancy is the prevision of future by human blood. I will not oblige anyone to take part in this method, however, it’s a recommended area that bears many results.”

Abraxas shifted in his seat, feeling very comfortable in the ottoman, the heavy scent of the burning oils was very distracting. It did not help that the room was soothingly warm, and he felt his agitation being calmed by the ambience.

“I am not a Seer, and much less an oracle. Why should I be here teaching you an area I am not able to fully exercise? Because I able to understand every nuance of it. I have studied with Cassandra Trelawney and Cassandra Vablatsky, the two only living seers in the present time – and one of them has reached her seventieth birthday while the other is nearing her fifties, I must remind you. I have studied the ways of the centaurs among them. My Inner Eye is not developed, though, and that has never stopped me of having fair success in my predictions.”

“Now, I believe you must be feeling sleepy. Enjoy the moment to settle yourselves in a comfortable manner, and I want an essay on the practice of divinantion without the prophetic gifts.”

And Abraxas felt his eyelids heavy as they closed to welcome sleep, it was the incense, he assumed, as he felt both Anya and Brianna slipping into dreamland with him.

Anya woke up feeling she had had a vision, and knowing she could not remember it – which was frustrating, because she had trained her brain to always retain her dreams. As she opened her eyes, she recognised the weight she was feeling at her side was an actual person – blonde and long haired, and it was Abraxas Malfoy sleeping soundly. There were many people around her sleeping soundly, and she was sure she had not taken part in an org-

That scent. Right, the Divination class.

“Interesting.” A voice called, and Anya turned to see Mistress Myradd, sipping a large cup of coffee. “Did you drink coffee on the last hours?”

Anya shook her head.

“I thought you hadn’t, otherwise you would have not been affected by the incense at all. I have never someone waking before the right moment. And you obviously had a prophetic dream. Which would mean that you are a seer. Interesting enough, seers are never affected by the incense – which is why I always test it on my new class, you never know when the next gifted one will be born. But you, Ms. Donbyre, were affected – and not only that, but you had an induced vision with it. I don’t know what you are, but you have gifts.” The woman sipped her coffee again. “Am I wrong?”

“You are not wrong, Mistress Myradd.”

“So, visions. Unusual visions.  I remember you. The masses called you the Hestia of People, the Girl-Who-Protected. An Order of Merit, eh? My colleagues comment about you and Riddle. The most famous pair Slytherin produced since Morgana and Merlin.” The professor said with a bit of mockery, and that was evident by her rolling of eyes. “Did you see the attack on Hogsmeade?”

“No.”

“Good, good. Seers who are tormented by views of despair and destruction usually descent into madness. There is no use in seeing suffering that you cannot prevent happening.”

“So, it’s true? None of what I see can be prevented?”

The older witch gave her a pitying look. “So, you see some of it.” She sighed, taking a sip of her coffee once again and inviting her closer. “The gift of divination is very ambiguous e complex, duplicity and treachery are its weapons. Sometimes, you will find yourself in the ability of preventing something of happening – and most of the times you manage to interfere, you will regret it. At least, this is how Cassandra Trelawney descripted to me. Cassandra Vablatsky once told me her gift gave her choices between courses of actions, and that she was tortured by her choices. Both Cassandras eventually chose to ignore those aspects of their gifts. It’s a choice that can only be done by you, however. And your gift seems to work in different manners than both of them. Trelawney is an oracle and Vablatsky is a clairvoyant. ”

The gift of divination could be manifested in several different ways. All seers had success in the usage of divination methods to predict the future, but those methods were vague, and most usually used to induce the manifestation of one’s gift. An oracle or a sybil was someone capable of making prophetic speeches, called prophecies. Prophecies had several interpretations usually, and there is where they could be manipulated, they were also self-fulfilling, which could be frustrating. Clairvoyants had the capability of knowledge, with one glance, they could tell what someone or something could do in the future – such ability was much based of probability and paths – most clairvoyants were tempted to lead their object of analysis to one path in order to achieve a certain future, however such process was incredible fragile, and it was considered impossible to calculate every result. Anya’s gift didn’t manifest in those ways, however. Her gift was much similar to the gift that had created the idea that Divination allowed you to _see_ the future. She had less knowledge on how things had turned into her vision, and more knowledge about what the future reserved.  

“I am a visionary.”

“I thought so. Not my field of specialization either, I lean more towards the interpretation. Nevertheless, you may count with me to guidance and further experiment with your gifts, if that is your wish. Now, I should recommend you to feign sleep, as all the other will wake up at the same time – a moment which is approaching.”

“Mistress Myradd?”

“Yes, Ms. Donbyre?”

“You realise, of course, that in the middle of this war, the knowledge of my position as a seer being public-“

“-puts you in grave danger.” The woman took a last sip of her coffee before reaching for her wand. “I swear upon my magic that I shall not speak or allude to Anastasia Donbyre’s prophetic gifts to anyone she does not give me permission to do. So mote it be.”

Anya feel the magic settling in and smiling in thanks to her professor., positioning herself back in place between Abraxas and Laws. “Thank you, Mistress Myradd.”

“You are an interesting person, Miss Donbyre.”


	27. Twenty-Sixth Hour

Many years into adulthood, if someone asked Anastasia Donbyre or Tom Riddle about the moment of their lives which defined their future, they would be able to pinpoint it to their third year in attendance of Hogwarts.

Some could have called the years of 1940 and 1941 the breaking point. But why such name was deserved, we will come to see.

To Charlus Jaime Potter, 1940 was also a year of great significance. It was the beginning of his adulthood, of his position as Head of the Ancient House of Potter. Usually, a Potter would be buried in the green fields of the Potter Manor, and the ceremony the sound of waves hitting the shore down the hill would be heard. However, the manor had been occupied by the Paladines. Henry Edgar Potter and Anemone Livia Potter would find their resting place among their most ancient ancestors.

Godric’s Hollow was the home to the Potter Ancestral Home (although, there was also the ruin of a messuage in Stinchcombe, on which the name Potter had been first originated). Charlus and Fleamont stared unmoving at the face of their parents. They seemed so peaceful now, their bodies mended to perfection, dressed in the proud colours of their house. His father wore a eggplant-coloured tunic, and a chestnut cloak held together by a brooch depicting their coat of arms. His mother wore a houppelande in the same colours, and both wore a simple gold circlet in their heads. They looked regal as anemones covered the feminine form, and holly buried the masculine body.

Charlus also knew that was an illusion. He had seen the mangled bodies, he had seen the pain they had suffered. But it was good to his brother, his young brother that knew few things about life, and many about potions. Fleamont didn’t need to see the things their parents had gone through. They were only one year apart in their ages, but Charlus was now the head of the family – for all that matter, he had reached majority. Their tutelage would go to his grandmother Arwain Derwent, but everything that happened to House Potter was his responsability.

At the moment, the Potter Manor was held hostage by a Dark Lord. That was a good beginning. He had no idea what to do. For all his life, he had counted with his parents for guidance, for solace, for support. Now they were gone, and he had to support himself and give support to his sibling – to their family name.      

The funeral was attended by many. The Potter couple was a well-known among the Light side of society (although not necessarily well-liked, not after the controversy with the ex-minister Evermonde in the First Muggle War), and his father’s former position in Wizengamot was an invitation to every member of it.

Some would find funny, the amount of events the families present have been attending in the last days. All the events were funerals, of course. As wands were lightened in reverence to the coffins being downed by magic, Charlus wondered how many of those wand-users truly felt something about the deaths.

Out of those present, Charlus knew his father had only been truly friends with Wizengamot member Norvel Twonk, the war-hero and head auror Theseus Scamander, the head hit wizard Neleus Moody, the Wizengamot member Glaucus Scrimgeour and the head of DMLE Callender Urquarth.

It was the last one that approached him. Callender Urquarth was a peremptory man, his skin swarthy, his dark hair gelled back and his facial hair was only allowed to grow slightly in the upper lip and chin regions. He wore black leather robes, and he seemed enraged with the deaths. He was also, Charlus remember, the youngest in his father’s group of friends – in which Henry had been the second youngest. The tears in Charlus’s eyes were reflected in the man’s eyes.

Such an imperious man. Crying for his father – another dignified man.

“You are the son of my best friend, Charlie.” The man was saying. “You are his heir, and now, you are the Head of my friend’s family. I swear upon my magic to return the Potter Manor the deserving hands of Lord Potter and to avenge the deaths of Henry and Anemone Potter, former Lord and Lady Potter. So mote it be.”

Charlus felt the man’s magic being bond to the promise, and looked up to the man – horror evident in his expression. That was the Head of DMLE, risking the loss of his magic if he (and his troops) were unable to complete the vow.

“I know that would be what Henry would have done to my Elphinstone, if we were in different situations.”

That day, the Ministry began an inner country battle against the Paladines occupying Yorkshire and Durham. Many would be killed in the conflict that would not bear results anytime soon.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

“Ms. Donbyre. If my tea tells me right you were supposed to be at your History of Magic class.” Violet Myradd said, as said third year witch invaded her bedchambers in the Divination Tower at twenty minutes to nine in the morning. She was wearing a long nightgown, perched over the window sill.

“May I see your cup?” The woman shrugged and threw the cup in her direction. Anya examined it. There were many circle segments, a symbol of sleep – she snickered. “It’s funny how accurate your tea is – I obviously interrupted your sleep, and most students use their History classes as nappy time. I prefer using those periods in a more productive way and, by saying that, I mean avoiding them completely. I believe the last time I heard Binns’s tirade was in first year.”

The Divination teacher snorted. “How are your grades in History?”

“Very well, thank you for asking, the autumn weather does them well. I wish to try my hand of aímamancy, but every book admonishes against practicing it without supervision – at least, in a first attempt.”

“Twenty-eight essays to correct and I will ignore all of them for you.” The woman scoffed. “I have fifth-years at ten past ten, but until then I am yours. Do you have a dagger?”

Anya nodded, taking out her instruments and settling herself in the woman’s bed. “And she sits in my bed. Students are not even allowed in the teacher’s private chambers.” Mistress Myradd muttered as she served another cup of tea to herself. Anya ignored her, knowing the woman actually appreciated her presence, and that had nothing against her sitting on her bed. She had only had three periods of class with the professor until then, but they had had many unofficial meetings, all broaching her seer abilities.

She placed one of the teacher’s silver bowls over the sheets, and conjured water inside of it. She drew the tip of her dagger over her life-line and enclosed her hand in a tight fist, allowing the drops to mix with the water. Usually, the desired effect would be the gathering of the blood drops above the water, forming astrological glyphs that could be interpreted.

Another process – much more useful and precise to someone like Anya – was creating the symbol to Saturn’s sickle. That was the method she chose, while her teacher raised herself from her seat and went to her wardrobe, in search for robes. The woman didn’t pay much attention to her, knowing Anya actually knew what she was supposed to do.

 Just after the Saturn’s sickle was drawn, the blood vanished within the water for a moment, and then the liquid was turned into albescent dim. She pressed her hand against her handkerchief, in an attempt to stop the blood-flow. Drops of it rolled down her chin as she ingested part of it. Despite the whitish colour, it tasted just like bloodied water.

Feeling it burning down her throat, Anya submerged her head down the bowl, opening her eyes into it. Her eyes stung, but she knew that was an expected effect. Her view was invaded by the image of Tom in a Christmas decorated Great Hall. And mutterings surrounding them. They were talking about an attack on the Hogwarts Express. Suddenly, the figure of a redhead crying came to her vision. Maeve Kearney – and the words she spoke were: “I am going to get them for you, Laws.”

Eoessa Law Cadogan would be killed by Grindelwald’s forces – in this Christmas, probably. Anya pulled her head up, startled by the knowledge, and gasping in panic. Violet Myradd noticed the distressed state of her student easily.

“It worked.” The woman guessed. “You saw something bad.”

The younger witch did not answer, too caught up thinking about her friend. Arguably the most unstudious Ravenclaw Hogwarts had ever produced, clumsy and witty – and artisan. Anya didn’t thought much about her, admittedly, but she had been one of the first people to make her feel welcomed.

“You cannot prevent it, Anastasia.” Her professor’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

Anya shook her head, and the movement seemed to lead her teacher into the belief she would do nothing because the woman visibly relaxed. The Slytherin cut that belief short. “I can.”

“I have seen two seers, many non-seers and centaurs trying to prevent their predictions. Almost half were successful in their quest. But of those successful, only one found satisfaction in the end. Some experienced equivalent ends, but most faced worst fates.”  The woman left her place in the dressing table, coming to sit in front of her student. Fingers dressed by gold rings reached for pale hands, and godly black eyes looked into unnatural green ones. “You can’t. Promise me you won’t try.”

The shorter witch refused, her eyes never leaving the other’s. “I can’t. While the possibility of preventing something like that exists, I will not cease to pursue it. I saw death and grief, Mistress Myradd.”

The woman squeezed her hands in worry. “You are not to be blamed for the fate you weren’t able to prevent, Anastasia.”

“What is the use of prophetic gifts if I refuse to act to prevent the future they show me? How egoistical is to retract because of fear, when you are playing with lives?”

“Muggles would say you suffer from God Complex, trying to play with fates.” Her teacher sighed, releasing her hands. “I won’t be able to take this idea of your mind, will I?”

“Firstly, all wizards and witches enjoy playing God – there is no denying: we are above nature. Secondly, no, you won’t.” The Slytherin agreed stubbornly. “Now, how can I increase the number of visions I have about a particular incident?”

“You can’t. At least, there is no guaranteed way. I suppose burning oils for the entities which will shine upon the day such incident will happen it’s always a valid attempt – that was the method Inigo Imago, the last known visionary, recommended. Lynos Laocoonis  sacrificed a steer whose birthday coincided with the date he wished to know about, and bathed himself in the blood of it. I don’t think you will be able to pull this off.  Mimis Ur used the blood of a goat. I believe this are the only two known visionaries to whom such sacrificial processes worked, though.”

“Which oils you recommend? And do you believe the owner of Hog’s Head would sell me one of his goats?” The woman gave a disbelieving look. “Just in case.” The Slytherin amended.

“We didn’t have this conversation – and none of all others, by the way. Poplar, aspen and black rose are the most recommended.”

“I don’t have them.”

“Of course, you don’t!” Mistress Myradd said in exasperation. “Take mine. And if these deals between us lack out, I will be fired and you suspended. You are aware of that, I hope.”

“Thankfully you have sworn a Magical Vow, then. You would be the only way of such deal be discovered.”

“Riddle knows as well; don’t deny, I saw you giving him your journal this weekend. Your journal, in which I have seen you scribbling every vision of yours. Your journal, which anyone could have access to. Interesting enough, you are not scribbling your vision of today in it.”

“Tom is my partner, obviously he knows. But you are wrong, I don’t scribble every vision of mine, just those which concern him. And the journal is locked – only Tom and I are able to open it.” Anya assured her, pushing herself out of the bed and selecting the oils the woman had suggested from the professor’s collection. “I will take these.”

“Ever since I heard of you, I was unable to see how you could have been sorted in Slytherin. You were daring, courageous, harsh, dependant  and well-liked by all your peers. But now I see the true you, Ms. Donbyre. And it’s resourceful, ambitious, and more determinate than an unmoving mule.”

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Tom knew he had made the right choice in accepting Cantankerus Nott’s notes on his study about magical gifts; Caelum Nott, his son and the one who had copied the material to Tom, had told him the man planned to publish a book about it, and name it _The Gifts Within Blood_. Much like the _Pure-Blood Directory_ the man had published anonymously, his beliefs were widely asserted on the whole book. And by saying that, Tom meant there was not a page lacking blood supremacy.

The letters were deep dark starches over the parchment, none of the refinement the words suggested present there. It had a chapter on necromancers, and the man’s support of Grindelwald was evident, praising his family – it seemed that only known necromancers in history were all dark lords, a small family that had lived in isolation over the China of Xia Dynasty, a royal family that had ruled over the Pwene, and the Peverells, probably the first British family to become extinct in male line over the twelfth century. It also had a chapter on animancers, and the several families that carried some gift of it in their blood – surprisingly, the Lovegoods and the Bones were the families who presented the last recorded manifestations of it.

Tom thought about the rust-haired second-year in his house. Dirty-mouthed, opportunistic and self-seeking – no example of animancy there. Abraxas had once mentioned that the girl had potential – he had also called the girl a cold bitch, though.

Then, there were the truth-seekers. The small passage Nott had written about it showed the man had only found registers of truth-seekers in House of Fawley and the House of Prewett. Well, that wasn’t amusing as well. While the Prewetts were very good in discerning honesty from duplicity, ex-minister Fawley had not been particularly famous for his sagacity. 

In the chapter of natural born legilimens and occlumens, the man highlighted the Goldstein and Spavin family as the families with the largest number of mind-magus in Britain, followed closely by the Princes and the Selwyns. He also reasoned that Blacks had been producers of methamorphmagi for centuries, as had been the Maxs before they went extinct. Animagi were common in the Potters, the Rosses and the Gamps.

 Notwithstanding his reading over the aforementioned chapters, his interest wasn’t really expressed in those. His main reason for requesting Cantakerus Nott’s work was his extensive survey on oratomagi – a research he had been made aware after his parseltongue abilities were revealed to his house.

There weren’t many capable of communicating with animals in Britain – but it was a more common hereditary gift than most others. The most commons were the ability of communicating with felines, and with birds. Serpent-speakers were for rarer.

  _The first known parselmouth is Herpo the Foul. Born in the Greek Dark Ages, it’s said that Lord Herpo was gifted with the ability by Apophis, the embodiment of chaos, in his travels to the northeast Africa. In, exchange, he swore to bring chaos to every land he walked through. Herpo the Foul is one of the most feared Dark Lords in Ancient Times, and perhaps because of this reason, parselmouths are usually classified as dark wizards._

_In Ancient Times, however, most parselmouths were associated with medicine. Herpo’s great-great-grandson, Asclepius, a necromancer and parselmouth, in attempt to redeem his lineage, used his good relationship with the elaphe snakes to make himself one of the greatest healers of the history. His children were all gifted in healing and parseltongue: the potioneer Panacea, the healers Hygeia and Telesphorus, the mediwitches Aceso and Iaso, the necromancer Aglia, the curse-breaker Podalirius and the herbologist Machon._

_Asclepius’s children are responsible for perpetuating the association between healing and parselmagic for many centuries. The Gaulish witch Sirona, used zameni’s venom to invent several antidotes; the Italic witch Angitia, the ancestor of snake-charmers developed several healing rituals. This association ceases to exist as parselmouths become less and less frequent, and parselmouth abilities begin to be frowned upon, together with many others rich magic fields._

_In Modern Europe, we find examples of only two parseltongue lineages. Paracelsus and Salazar Slytherin are the two known practitioners of parselmagic. Philipus von Hohenheim, also known as Paracelsus, used his ability to communicate with serpents in his alchemy creations, and used his herbology knowledge to cure many. He was regarded as a difficult man and he did not marry or had any heirs. The von Hohenheim was continued by his second cousin, carrying the gift of parseltongue, until becoming extinct at the nineteenth century. Theodor von Hohenheim, the last scion of the family, died unmarried and without known offspring – much like his great-great-great-great-great-uncle._

_Many believe that the parseltongue ability Salazar Slytherin was famous for can be traced back to Panacea’s lineage, as her great-grandchild Salus is believed to have been one of the founders of Rome and Salazar Slytherin’s mother, Lady Sabina, came from a line of Roman priestess. Much like the other founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the great Salazar Slytherin is claimed as an ancestor by many families. Among these families are the Gaunts, the Muldoons, the Osberts, the Selwyns and the Slughorns. Out of those, however, only the Gaunts are able to speak parseltongue, although the Slughorns keep a Potioneering Tradition, and the Muldoons, a Healing Tradition._

Tom stopped reading, as his mind assembled the last phrase.

_The Gaunts are able to speak parseltongue._

The Noble House of Gaunt was a house of parselmouths. Most likely the only family in Britain.

Alone in the common room, long after the students of the snake house had coiled in their beds, and long before they rouse to face the daylight, Tom Riddle’s breath sounded sharp and raspy in his excitement.  What did he know about the Gaunts? They had been included in the Sacred Twenty-Eight British families that were still truly pure of blood by the 1930s – all written according the same man who had written the parchments he held.

They were a Noble House. That didn’t mean many things – while in the past nobility would equal to wealth and prominence, the Ollivanders were hardly rich, and the Flints and the Slughorns couldn’t rely on their family name to make themselves important. Tom couldn’t remind of one person named Gaunt in the Ministry – or wherever else, as matter of fact – but they should exist, as the family was still extant ten years ago. They had the tendency of marrying their cousins to keep their blood pure – some pointed out that inbreeding could increase the mental instability of the offspring, but Tom could hardly cringe at that, as according the lie he and Anya had created, they were cousins and engaged. Tom knew nothing else about them, and wasn’t that surprising? He had never heard about a Gaunt, in the almost three years he had lived in the Wizarding World.

Nobody talked about the Gaunts at all. He wanted to cringe at that. He did not wish to be part of a weak family. Well, he should have thought that a family of eminence would have made its parseltongue gifts a common knowledge. At least, he was pure-blooded. But what about his parents?  His mother was dead, he knew. But was she a Gaunt? Or was his father? Tom Gaunt seemed a bit far-fetched, although Thomas Gaunt sounded better. Well, his grandfather was named Marvolo – and Marvolo Gaunt was rather pure-blooded. Perhaps his mother and father were cousins? And what about Anastasia’s parents – were they Gaunts as well?

No, Anastasia couldn’t be his sister. She was a new-born in the beginning  of May, and he had been born at end of December. A four months gap wouldn’t be possible between siblings.

And why his father had never sought for him? Or his other relatives? Did they not care their scion had been raised among muggles? Did they not care about him? Maybe they were dead. That would explain why he had never heard of any Gaunt, and why none had sought for him. He wished for their death, as the other possibility was too horrible.

 _They better be dead._ He thought, and then: _They better have left an inheritance._


	28. Twenty-Seventh Hour

She heard the sound of rail squealing as the wheels scrapped it. She felt the collision, and the impact threw her over the wagon. She was sitting on the snow, and the white cold field was marred by red. People were fighting, but more were dying. Corpses, there were many corpses. Men wearing pale leather robes were nailing the quartered body of a child. She shuddered, but she couldn't move.

Suddenly, flames approached her as a wagon fell. She barely escaped it, throwing herself against the ground, when she reached safety. But she knew who was inside of it. She saw by the window as a girl she knew, hazel eyes and pale skin, threw her body against the glass, trying to break it. She tried to run in the others girl's direction, but her feet didn't move. The girl couldn't break it, and she watched the girl pass out with her hands splashed against the window.

A sandy blonde boy came to her, and grabbed her in his arms. She felt secure for a moment, as he lead her away from the train, away from the fight. Their hands swayed as they ran, and her feet stumbled in the deep snow. She wore high-heeled mary-janes. Why the hell she had wore them? The snow in front of her feet was painted by blood once again, and she looked up. The boy had slashes deeply housed in his chest, that was barely rising. No, no, no. God, he couldn't die. Not him.

She kneeled by his side, the snow already burying his body. She tried to melt it away; she tried to dig the boy out. But her hands found a feminine face, eyes open with fear and mouth frozen in a frightened position. Short dark hair and ocean blue eyes. Dead. No more than a beheaded face. She took it in her lap, tears in her eyes as she hugged it closely.

"Anya!" There was only one person who called her that.

And there was him, fighting against ten wizards with pure skill and a wand. But then, the ten wizards threw ten red curses at him, and his face writhed in pain. A green coloured curse hit him, and his body fell over the ground.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][

She woke up.

Her body in the middle of the sheets, panting with the thing she knew was only a dream – not a vision. It hadn't felt like one. She drew the green hangings of her bed open, and took comfort in the image of the circular dormitory, that was illuminated by the dim lights that entered through the draped curtains.

She knew there were two beds by her side, both occupied. And she knew that it was too early but she was also perfectly aware she wouldn't be able to return to sleep. And so she rose.

Wrapped in her uniform's houppelande, Anya moved the hangings of Dorea's bed – just to be sure – and released a relieved breath when she saw the girl's body sleeping peacefully beneath the furs the older witch always carried with her. Her next stop was the third year boys' room. Anyone in the school knew that if one girl got caught roaming around the male dormitories, she would be severely punished. But the intruder wasn't in a very reasonable state of mind, and even if she was, she wouldn't have backed down.

She hissed to the hangings of Tom's bed – which was the only way they could be opened.

 _"_ _Anya?"_ Tom said, stirring from his sleep and recognising the feminine form in front of his bed. His partner looked unwell. Her skin was deathly pale, and her usually silky hair was a mess. What was more disturbing, though, was the lost look in her eyes, and the way she shivered even if she was covered by many layers of wool. _"Did you have a vision?"_ She had had five visions in the last month, two about unrelated incidents but three were about the incident that would come in December.

She shook her head. He sighed.

_"_ _Can I stay?"_

He barely managed to restrain his surprise. _"Here? Are you insane?"_

_"_ _Just like when we were children. I will leave in an hour."_

_"_ _Very well."_

He felt the couch shift to accommodate her. Her body cuddled against him, and he breathed in the scent of lilies invading his senses.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][

Dorea wasn't usually an early-riser, but that day in October, she greeted the sun with open eyes. Nastya was already gone, but that wasn't that rare. Her raven-haired friend had the worst sleeping habits. It was too early for going to the Great Hall, but her owl Vega had delivered a letter from her brother the day before, one she still had to answer.

The Black girl frowned, thinking back about the letter. She felt…apprehensive. Pollux had settled Irma, Cygnus and himself on Great Ganilly Castle. Her father, mother and sister would be the next to move out. Her uncle Sirius and aunt Hesper were supposedly safe in Cornwall, cousin Arcturus and Melania were hesitant about leaving Wiltshire (she could understand that, Wiltshire and Hampshire were the two most sociably active counties to pure-bloods). Her first cousin Regulus would never leave his isolation on Isle of Wight even to save himself, and her more distant cousin Regulus would never leave his partner Gaius Rosier and their house in Lincolnshire. But what really worried her brother was uncle Arcturus and Lysandra's refusal of leaving Blackthorn State, and the consequent endangerment of Lycoris – who refused to be parted from the couple after what happened in London.

The Dark Lord's forces were watching the property's borders every day, according the house-elves reports. Never trespassing, of course, but the fact was that the Black family remained neutral in this war. Many British pure-blood families had taken this stance. Grindelwald seemed to foreign to their tastes, and if he were to win this war, a pedestal of power would be built in Germany – and the British pedestal would crumble. Nevertheless, the ministry lacked the tolerance for dark magic that most pure-bloods would find acceptable, and was too including of muggle-borns to blood-supremacists' liking. These houses had no wish of being obliged to choose sides, but they also knew they could be forced and/or intimidated in making a decision. Lord Pollux Black feared their family might be backed against the wall if Blackthorn State remained occupied. Master Arcturus Black, however, argued with his nephew that abandoning one's property to the enemy was a symbol of weakness – and he wasn't wrong in that.

As she left their bedroom, Dorea met with the image of Anastasia Donbyre, her outter uniform slightly wrinkled as she sneaked back. The older girl raised her eyebrows, not falling to notice that she was returning from the male dormitories. "Use only your inner robes." She counselled, and the other nodded. "Tell me latter."

"Not what you are thinking."

"I am not thinking." She assured her. She felt good for her friend. The war had left a permanent mark in the green-eyed witch – now she was parentless, deemed as an unbeatable heroine, when in truth being brave and proactive did not equal not-scared .

If Dorea was a Hufflepuff, she would have comforted her friend's pain.

If Dorea was a Ravenclaw, she would have accepted her friend's fears.

If Dorea was a Gryffindor, she would have been by her friend's side in battle.

But Dorea was just a Slytherin, and while snakes were better at reading other's emotions than others, they respected their peers too much to acknowledge them.

Sometimes, Dorea questioned if this notion of respect morally correct. If being pure of blood really did make someone more deserving of being part of wizardkind. If family was more important than humanity.

But she knew she wasn't fit to ask such questions, so she turned her back and ignored them.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][

"The Gaunts…I don't know much about them. They were well-known some centuries ago, I believe. But a countless amount of unsuccessful business and over-ambitious envoys sealed their disgraceful fate. It's shameful, actually." Caelum Nott pondered. "We don't talk about them." He added hastily, and Tom could assume that the House of Gaunt was a taboo subject in pure-blood circles. No surprise there, wizardkind was very hesitant to acknowledge what was right in front of their noses.

Tom returned his eyes to his book, an obvious dismiss. No need to sound too curious. He sat in one of the black armchairs in the middle of the common room, and to the observant eyes, his object of read was a sixth-year Transfiguration book. In truth, the book subject was that innocent, and most of his housemates were aware of this fact. They, of course, had no proves, and had no wish to acquire one.

As most students left for the breakfast in that Saturday day, one of those sat on the loveseat opposite his seat. Tom did not stop reading until the common room was fairly empty. Only then, he faced the person awaiting to speak with him.

It was Dorea Black.

He didn't give much of his attention to Anya's acquaintances. They were usually annoying, shallow or oblivious. He regarded the sister of Lord Black as more intelligent than others of Anya's group, but her overbearing attitude hadn't been a great motivator in pursuing a closer acquaintance.

"You wanted to know about the Gaunts." He didn't answer, it wasn't a question. "Very well. The name you are searching for is Corvinus Gaunt. A beautiful man, according my great-aunt's diary, but very proud and arrogant. He swore to brew a hydra, and wasted his family fortune in this attempt. Two hundred years later, we have the last registered Gaunt, Marvon or something like that. He was imprisoned before I was born, I think. It was a scandal. How the mighty have fallen and all." The girl waved a hand. "Nobody will tell you more about that. It was a rather hush-hush affair."

"Could he-" He hesitated for a moment, but that was an unbecoming behaviour. "-be called Marvolo?" It would make sense, quite similar to Marvon, and it would fit the age.

A suspicious glint was visible in her eyes. "He could."

"Is he still in prison?"

"I don't know."

Tom nodded, and dismissed her with a wave of hand. The girl walked through the doorway, her heels clicking.

The information the Black girl had provided was astonishing. A Gaunt. He must be a Gaunt. Son of a child of Marvolo Gaunt, after all, his grandfather name was Marvolo – his middle name. He should be a pure-blood, probably with some muggle-blood mixed somewhere, as Riddle wasn't a pure-blood name. He came from a disgraced family. His grandfather had been imprisoned, he needed those ministry records.

"Sometimes, I worry about you Riddle. Surrounded by bossy bitches and fiery birds. Your dame is increasingly rebellious." The broad and dark figure of Antonin Dolohov grew from the shadows, in all its arrogant glory.

"Dolohov, what can I do for you?"

"Teach your book. And not the Transfiguration side of it. Pyrites cannot stop singing you praises. Oh, and don't kill the boy, much like a jobberknoll, only special ears can hear his lullaby." His roommate said, approaching his armchair in his trudging manner.

"Assuming I can, how did you say? Teach you my book – why would I do it? In my book, I have little to learn from _you._ "

"You have a fantastic body, Riddle." He had grabbed one of the armchair's arms, and his hand was flicking close to the Dark Arts book, some fingers extending to ghostly touch his chin. Tom did not move, not because he was intimidated (that wasn't the case, in the orphanage many times his personal space had been breached, but never someone had committed that mistake twice) but because his impassive stance shouldn't be broken to mind this minor bother. "Why not make full use of it?"

Tom raised an inquiring eyebrow, daring the other to continue with such suggestive speech.

"House of Dolohov is renowned for producing great duellers." The boy stated, removing his fingers from the indigo-eyed wizard's lips.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][

Laws Cadogan had always found her Slytherin friend unique. Anastasia Donbyre had fascinated her since their first meeting, with her beauty and maturity. She didn't feel like the other girls (or boys) – no, she had a spirit that screamed woman, an adult woman per se. Her presence demanded glances, and her proficiency with magic asserted her uniqueness. She wasn't the most powerful student in school, or the best – but Riddle, arguably the holder of both this titles, wasn't as fair or as unquestionable as her.

"Are you going tomorrow?" She asked the green-eyed witch in the middle of their Herbology class on Friday.

"To where?"

"Hogsmeade, of course. You can't have forgotten about it." The upcoming weekend was the first Hogsmeade weekend since the attack last year. The village, they had been assured, was fully secured by aurors and totally rebuilt. There was much excitement behind the castle walls for that Saturday.

"I don't believe I would be able to, with everyone talking about it. I am not sure I should, Laws." Nastya sighed. "After what happened last year, perhaps I should just stay in the castle, you know? People will keep glancing at me."

"Come with me, my father used to take me there when I was little, I know all the short-cuts. Nobody will see you if you don't wish." She pouted. "Please, come with me."

She laughed. "If it is so important to you. I will talk to the girls." She said, catching the attention of Dorea (who was sitting together with Gagwilde) and mouthing _I need to talk._ The other Slytherin nodded, indicating she would wait for them after class, and Nastya turned back in her seat. Laws wanted to groan, Dorea was always with Nastya! It wasn't fair that they had most of their classes together. She glanced at the head of red-hair that was sitting at the side of Henrietta Fronsac.

"Maeve can go?"

"I don't think so. She is going on a date with Sean."

Nastya spluttered. "Really?"

"Yes, after becoming a chaser he finally took courage to ask her out. As a couple they seem to fit the lazy and comfortable category, is sugary cute."

"What about you, Laws? Any love interest to this year?"

It was Laws's time to splutter. And then to blush.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][

When Charlus had read the Daily Prophet in the morning of 29 October, he made his promise to write a letter to his father's friends. Callender Urquarth and Theseus Scamander were men to be admired.

It was bittersweet feeling, knowing his father had been avenged. It did not soothe the pain of losing him. It did not lessen his fears or his hesitance. But the example of a promise being fulfilled so swiftly inspired him. Inspired him to be great and to follow his father's footsteps.

That day, he had rejoiced at Britain's victory. Perhaps he should be ashamed, after all many had died. But now part Durham had been freed from Grindelwald's clutches and the Potter family had its manor back again – just like several others families.

He had felt the night before a rush of magic, and now he could identify it as a magic vow being fulfilled. It had been the first time he felt at ease, after his parents' deaths. But such feeling was not made to last, because the following morning after receiving such news, the Daily Prophet announced in its headlines:

**HEAD OF DMLE MURDERED AT HOME**

**Callender Urquarth, age 36, and his youngest daughter Petronia Urquarth, age 8, were found dead inside Urquarth Manor this dawn. Everything indicates a follower of Grindelwald as the assassin. His post was immediately assumed by Caligula Carrow, age 29. Mr. Urquarth has served the Ministry since 1924, and in his career he has successfully imprisoned many criminals and most recently won the battles of Wilkins's Hill, Coteau de Sylphide, Stein von Fossegrimen and Nimue's Grimoire. He is survived by two children: Elphinstone Urquarth, age 13, and Augusta Urquarth, age 11.**

**_For more information on Caligula Carrow and the Departament of Magical Law Enforcement, see page 3._ **

**_For more information on the murder's investigation, see page 5._ **

**_For more information on Callender Urquarth's life, see page 6._ **

The newspaper in his hands caught fire, and he felt something very unsettling rising through his throat. Fear and sorrow were once again more than present. His eyes looked around the Great Hall in search for Elphinstone, a fellow yearmate in ravenclaw, and Augusta, that would be found at his table – if she was there. But they obviously weren't. Theseus Scamander, Elphinstone's godfather and Urquarth's right-hand, should have picked them in school. And brought them home.

To the corpses of their father and baby sister.

Wilhelmina and Brutus Scrimgeour, Natalie and Euphemia Twonk, Elphinstone and Augusta Urquarth, Alastor Moody, himself and his brother Fleamont. They had played together in childhood. Out of his father's friends, only Scamander was a bachelor. But their friendship hadn't lasted – Euphemia Twonk was still Augusta's best friend but otherwise he had seen none of them interacting. Brutus, Natalie and Elphinstone were in his year – Merlin, Natalie was his housemate! – but they had never talked in the grounds of Hogwarts. Alastor was a first year just like Euphemia and Augusta, a Slytherin, but he had never approached them, not even Fleamont, that used to be his best mate. He wanted to give his condolences to the children of such honourable man, but he doubted he would find the opportunity to.

And then was Petronia. She had been a baby the last time he saw her, and they had all found her bothersome. Nevertheless, they had nicknamed her Pet, and he had been very fascinated by those little hands. She had been the only baby he met until now. A very fat baby, with a crown of dark hair and eyes. Her mother Helene had died giving birth to her. They were together, right now.

Charlus went in search for his brother this time.


	29. Twenty-Eighth Hour

At the moment Ragnar Lestrange saw the name of Caligula Carrow stamped over the newspapers headlines, he knew his father had gone too far. His father had travelled to France some weeks before, and he hadn't settled a date of return. France – where Grindelwald's troops had practically taken over. But his father had returned, in the same day some manors in Durham had been conquered back. The day after, the one who had led the reconquest was found murdered by the Dark Lord – and Carrow, the same person who Ragnar had seen inviting his father to France, was promoted.

Carrow wasn't supposed to be de successor of Urquarth. He was the Head of the Investigation Department – usually, the Wizengamot would appoint the Head of the Auror Office, in this case, Theseus Scamander. But that hadn't happened. Carrow worked for Grindelwald, Ragnar already knew that. But his promotion raised several interpretations:

The Wizengamot was too deeply infiltrated. He didn't think that was the case, several members of it were advocates of muggle-interaction after all.

The Wizengamot was too easily blackmailed. It was possible, but he doubted it was the sole reason – you didn't found that amount of blackmail material anywhere in the market.

The Wizengamot was too swiftly bought. It was also possible, but there were to many honourable Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs in it for such simplicity.

However, the recent report the Lestrange account manager Furkras had sent showed several investments in dubious business. An almost bankrupt apothecary owned by the Edgecombes, a store Ragnar had never heard about named Wheeler's Wheel that was most probably fake, as the owner of it was named Nicholas Hopkins, and many others – all business owners of had one family member in the Wizengamot. This was usually the politics his father had never had enough patience to deal with – but he had apparently found his patience, and was wasting the family money in disastrous investments in order to support a Dark Lord.

Sometimes, his aunt Leta hadn't killed all elders in his family – then, he would be able to convoke a meeting and demand his father's deposition as the family head. He thought himself would make a fitting Lord Lestrange.

But all the elders were dead so he had to settle for a letter for Reimond inquiring about his dealings with Carrow, and other for Furkras advising the goblin to difficult his father's access to the vault.

His father obviously didn't respond back. Ragnar had owled Honeydukes and ordered a box of exploding bonbons – although they weren't Slughorn's favourites, they still worked quite as bribe to access the teacher's fireplace, which was connected to the Floo Network.

That was how he could be found at the moment in the Lestrange Manor, shoving a bottle of truth serum, down his father's throat – it had costed a bit more than the chocolate to Slughorn but he wasn't exactly good with compulsions.

"Is your current lover named Alicia Gay-Strauss?"

"Yes."

"Is she a mudblood?"

"Yes."

"I will have to commend Tom for this potion, works perfectely. Did you go to France to meet Grindelwald's followers and/or Grindelwald?"

"Yes."

"Did you go to Marat's house?" He remembered the name from the conversation he had overheard in the Summer Break.

"Yes."

"Did you join the Palladines?" He questioned, almost fearing the answer.

"No." Ragnar breathed in relief, but his father had hesitated, there was more to there.

"Are you a supporter of Grindelwald?"

"Yes."

"Did you bought Wizengamot members' votes in order to elect Caligula Carrow as the Head of DMLE?"

"Yes."

"Did you kill Callender Urquarth?"

"No." Ok, his father wasn't the assassin of one of the most prominent figures in Britain. That was good news, no?

"Did you know Callender Urquarth would be killed before his death?"

"Yes." Oh, but he was an accomplice. He wouldn't try to find who was the murder though. He had no use for such knowledge, and it was too dangerous.

"Did Carrow threatened you, my mother or I in any manner?"

"Yes."

"Did Carrow ask for information for the Dark Lord?"

"Yes."

"About the Lestranges?"

"No."

"About my acquaintances?" Tom had ordered him to ask this question. Domink Meier, according the Slytherin, had been a spy of Grindelwald, and he had also been much interested in them.

"Yes."

"About Tom Riddle and Anastasia Donbyre?"

"Yes."

"What did he ask?" No answer.

"Do you know the name Dominik Meier and/or Dominik Liothleben?"

"Yes."

"Does he work for Grindelwald?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever meet Grindelwald?"

"Yes." He had to hurry, the potion wouldn't last forever, and his father couldn't remain conscious after it.

"Have you ever killed somebody?" This was merely curiosity, a morbid curiosity he doubted would find any reason to be there.

"Yes." He had. Ragnar couldn't believe it. It was so morally wrong. And so unlike his father.

"Who?" He didn't answer. The truth serum couldn't force subjective answers. "Did you kill more than one person?"

"No."

"Was it a man?"

"No."

"Was it a witch?"

"Yes."

"Was she a mudblood?"

"No."

"Was she a half-blood?"

"No."

"Was she a pure-blood?"

"Yes."

"Was she a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff?"

"No."

"Was she a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin?"

"No."

"Was she foreign?"

"No."

"Was she home-schooled?"

"No."

"Was she young?"

"Yes."

"Did you kill her recently?"

"Yes."

"Was she Petronia Urquarth?"

"Yes."

A child. An eight years old little girl. He had seen the sorrow in the siblings' faces of the same girl. Ragnar shoved a Forgetfulness Potion brewed by Tom down his father's throat, and ´packed a punch in his face. The man fell in the ground and with one last kick in his ribs, Ragnar left, returning to Hogwarts.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Tom Riddle was reading a book on rituals in the middle of the Library. It was an old copy of a title that was no longer published, and part of the Pyrites family growing collection. Argo had no problem in lending it to him after he expressed his interest in such practices. The book had circa eighty years, yet it was well-kept. Probably the Pyrites weren't too interested in rituals.

He had been searching for necromancy and blood rituals, but it was a fairly tame literature – in which such practices couldn't be found. Many appearance-enhancing rituals, some marriage and adoption rituals, nine feud-declaring rituals, five blood-cursing rituals, three fidelity rituals, two vow-making rituals, one chastity ritual, one spirit-contacting ritual.

The wizard contained the urge of ripping the pages of the damned book. Useless. He went in search for a ritual book in the Restricted Section – thanks Merlin Slughorn had renewed his pass.

The Library was quite difficult to navigate through. It was divided in the Reference Section (in which all Hogwarts subjects could find their own section), the Creatures Section, the Legal Section, the Restricted Section, the Fiction Section, the Bibliography Section and the News Section. The Restricted Section was accessible only for N.E.W.T.s students, otherwise you needed a great deal of patience and arse-kissing abilities in order to get a permission from a teacher. He always went for Slughorn, as the Potions teacher was a great believer of no-questions philosophy.

"Tom, I'm here." Lestrange voice called downstairs. "I visited him."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Come here."

"Slughorn isn't so enthralled by me as he is by you. Lithruth will kill me if I enter without a pass."

Tom sighed in frustration, but he picked a ritual book that looked promising and went for the librarian. He gave her a charming smile, fading any suspicious she could feel like feeding because of the book's title. Ragnar followed him closely from behind as he left in the direction of the dungeons. He took the secret passage between the library and the dungeon hall, away from the prying eyes.

"You were right. Grindelwald is greatly interested by your doings – you and Nastya. Meier is his spy. Carrow has been asking around question about you."

"What questions?" Tom inquired, harshly.

"Excuse me?"

"I asked: what questions is the Dark Lord making about both of us?" Seeing Lestrange's stricken expression, he didn't have the answer. Tom groaned. "You had your father at your mercy. Any question you asked him he would be obliged to answer – and you did not care to ask about the Dark Lord's interests?"

"Well, I am sorry if you did not disclose enough information for me to make a sound guess." Lestrange spat venomously. "And I am sorry if you didn't have enough skill to brew me a Veritaserum or another similar truth serum that would have allowed me true answers. I did not enjoy playing charade with my father neither."

"I have already brewed the Veritaserum Potion successfully, Ragnar. I simply hadn't access to its ingredients over short-notice. And do not speak with me in that tone – such information is mine to share on my own will, and you have no ground to demand it."

Lestrange looked down, and if he was anyone else, the auburn-haired wizard would have blushed. "I apologize, Tom."

Tom ignored him, and walking into the Slytherin dungeon, he opened the book he had borrowed. It had the ritual he had looked for, after all.

 _Sanguis Vivit_ was the name of it. It only showed the living magical-relatives of the performer. It was relatively simple, although it required a great amount of blood – his blood. But the book said nothing about the freshness of the blood, a week should be enough time to collect the necessary quantity without over exhausting himself. It would leave a scar though – well, the air of November was cold enough for wearing gloves, he supposed.

Tom feared a bit what the ritual would reveal – if he had a large family, that would mean they had purposely neglected and denied him; and if the ritual did not show any names, he was the last of his line or a mudblood. But there was no use in his hesitation, and the most probable answer would be some descendent of Slytherin. And there weren't many people gloating around to be one of those – but there were some.

Maybe he was a Gaunt. Poor, but of the purest blood.

But money was still well-received.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

They all wore white robes, their hands were pointed to small children. Girls, shivering in the snow and crying. But standing still with some defiance as well. Gryffindors, her mind supplied. The men would take them. Would they kill? She didn't know.

The snow was so dirty. Was that mud or was that blood?

Her sight changed. She was at the Great Hall – she could see the familiar faces. "Tom!" One voice called. "Thanks Merlin!"

"Nastya." A voice whispered over her ear. Anya opened her eyes, and the green of her orbs met with the blue of her Ravenclaw friend's. Laws fingers were brushing against her forehead, removing a strand of hair from her face.

They were in an abandoned classroom near the Ravenclaw tower, which Laws had transformed in some kind of studio. The chamber had large windows that allowed the sight of the autumn scenery. Anya lay sprawled over a settee.

"Did I move?"

"No, you were perfect." Laws assured her. "But we are finished for today. The sun is almost down, there is no more natural light. Thank you for your cooperation, you have no idea how helpful you are."

"No worries, I quite enjoy the payment. Do you have it?"

Laws laughed, and brought upon the plate with several assortments of chocolate to her. Eos, her mother, had opened a chocolatier recently in Diagon Alley – it had been love at first taste for Anya. "How to you weight so little with such huge sweet-tooth I will never know." The brunette witch commented.

She put one piece of the chocolate with hazel on her moan. "Hum...Where is Dora?"

"Charlus came here, muttering about childhood friends and vows. They left together." She explained, sitting again on her stool in front of the canvas, brushing colours over the scenery. The painting was an oil on canvas, so she had time to finish. There were charms that made the process even calmer.

"I will never know if they are rivals or best mates." Anya said, the other hummed in agreement. "Can I take a look?"

"Please, do so."

Anya loved her friend's paintings – even though they were very different from her sketches. The red was always present, and usually the green as well. In this one she had opted for the autumn theme, with many reds, oranges and yellows, and some greyish green. She had painted her legs and face, but the body was still much undefined.

"Are my clothes not suited?" Laws didn't answer. "Not much I take. You should have, I can transfigure it, you know."

"It's not that."

"What's the problem?"

"Nothing." Laws answered too quickly. Anya raised her eyebrow. "It's too much…" She hesitated again. "Would have a problem wearing a shawl? Just it."

"Posing nude, you mean?"

"You can cover yourself, of course. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Anya paused, thoughtful. In the orphanage she hadn't been raised to be that uncomfortable with nudity, but it was expected from witches in this society. "It's really important for you, isn't it? Very well, we will start tomorrow then." She snorted. "This time I won't think too much about my figurine."

Laws laughed, and suddenly she was embraced by her friend in a tight hug. "Thank you!"

Anya snickered. "But this time, no Charlus trespassing please."

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Tom watched his final work in amazement. He wasn't the best artist out there, but the rune circle was a perfect copy of that in the pages of his book. It wasn't the most complex design he had seen – in his classes with Professor Sankara, they had covered the theory behind far more elaborated circles and rituals.

The runes were drawn in blood – his own blood – and the language was Gothic. You had the letters _bercna, laaz, utal_ and _thyth_ forming the word _blōþ_ meaning _blood_. _Sugil, aza, iiz uuaer, aza, noicz_ created the word _sai_ _ƕ_ _an_ , which meant _see_. _Manna, eyz, iiz, noicz_ and _sugil_ were the letters to _meins_ , aka _my._ The circle literally meant: _See my blood._ And that's what he wanted to – reveal his magical blood-relatives alive.

It was peculiar how three words could only be lead to magically alive people. As blood-runes were activated by magic, the blood could only search for magic, so muggles and squibs were excluded. And the word _sai_ _ƕ_ _an_ or s _ee_ , was the keyword to alive factor – the runes could only see the living, as the dead rarely stayed in this plane of existence. Dying meant the end of one's existence, hence, this blood-relation couldn't be identified.

He started chanting.

The words were in Proto-Germanic, basically an activation of the runes. The blood around his feet was given life by his words, moving to gather in front of him. His name was first formed, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Well, the orphanage hadn't lied – although one could argue one's name could only be the name one's used (for example, there were some parents that took days to name their child after birth, and in the period, the child would be called love or whatever, it was its first name, but it wasn't the name of the person the child would grow up to be).

Of his name, a thread grew up, being divided in two other threads. One of the threads stopped swiftly, while the other followed a bit more – before dying. Of the second thread however, another grew – and this third thread began transforming itself in a name. He wasn't a mud-blood.

M – was the first letter of it. But the name wasn't Marvolo. It was Morphin. Morphin Valerius Gaunt.

He was a Gaunt.

Who was Morphin Gaunt? And where was he?


	30. Twenty-Ninth Hour - the darkest one

Anastasia couldn’t have known, but the last month of 1940 would be the beginning of her damnation. It would lead the misspoken words, the wrong decisions, the harsh actions. But at the time, she didn’t know – so she had no problems at all with contributing with a little blood for Tom’s projects.

He had been immensely excited with his relative discovery. He hadn’t had the opportunity to do anything at all with this knowledge since it happened but he was working on it, she had been assured. Little Bethany Jenkins’s father worked at the Public Registers Office in the M.o.M – and she hadn’t missed Tom commanding Ragnar to approach the first-year Gryffindor. The words Morphin Gaunt would soon reach the girl’s ears.

But he, of course, wouldn’t be satisfied with only knowing his bloodline, so he went for hers. He had decided that they couldn’t be close relatives, as they didn’t look alike – but he had admitted that somewhere in between they were related. Anya couldn’t see how different they were from each other. They had both black hair, the same face shape and similar lips.

She drew her runes after one week, under the watchful gaze of Tom. He needed to point out every imperfection in the runes traced with her blood and she was nearly snapping at him, after all, she was only the model to one artist, not an artist herself.

That made her think back on Laws. Their first nude-modelling session had been a bit awkward – the Ravenclaw obviously uncomfortable with her bare body. Anya hadn’t minded too much, except for the cold. She had casted warming charms over herself in their second session, and Laws had seemed a bit more relaxed that time. Since then, things had gotten a better, and they had fun talking over the painting process.

“You are giggling.” Tom said in the middle of the abandoned classroom they were using.

She was kneeling in the middle of her own blood, her hands dirtied by the liquid – and giggling. Well, that was a sane picture. “I was thinking about the girls.”

Tom nodded to her, and she continued to work on the _thyth_ letter. “I think this is enough.” He announced some minutes later, circling around the runes to have the full image of it. “You know the words.”

Anya got up to her feet, cleaning her hands in her handkerchief. She closed her eyes and began the enchantment. Soon the blood began to move, and her name was drawn with it.

Anastasia Lynda Donbyre. Funny how a name Tom had invented was still considered her name – she was fairly sure there was no Donbyre family around nowhere. The thread born from her name stopped growing not two seconds after its birth.

She stared at its end. There was no name being formed – no blood relative to recognise. She was a muggle-born.

“Whoever my parents were – “ She noted, with some slight bitter tone in her voice. “ – they must have been terrified by my first bout of magic. It makes sense you know.” She looked up Tom, his face was pale and his expression, stricken. She felt weird. As if she wasn’t worthy in his eyes. Anya was used not valuing much to others: as an orphan among families, as a witch among muggles, as a woman among men. But Tom had always valued her – he wasn’t the best at expressing it, but they kept the balance equilibrated. But now, he had magical relatives and she – well, she didn’t.

But then, the stricken expression vanished from his features, and he adopted a very reasonable face. “No, it doesn’t make any sense at all. Because they weren’t terrified, you see. They were proud of the beautiful baby girl they had – and they would be much prouder, knowing the gifts you have inherited, Anya. You can’t be a mud-blood. You are a seer and a parselmouth – such abilities can only be developed in descendants of others seers and parselmouths. This ritual can only show living blood-relatives, Anya, you see?”

“You meant that I am the last scion of my family – whichever it is. I don’t know, Tom. Families dying out has become less rare phenomenon – but still, it’s less than common. If your theory is true, what horrible thing has happened to my family that I have become the last survivor of it?”

][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

It was December, and the impeding attack of the Dark Lord’s forces unto the Hogwarts Express was the only thought in Anya’s head. She knew this time her first-term grades wouldn’t be nearly as perfect as hers in the former years – but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Both Professor Slughorn and Professor Dumbledore had confronted her over it, and she could only blame it on the extra schoolwork brought by the electives (that had been her answer to Dumbledore) and the mourning of her parents (that had been response to Slughorn).

“I have been living with Mr. Riddle for years.” She had told her Head of House. “The last time I saw my parents it was in the Christmas before coming to Hogwarts. This time of year reminds me I cannot expect a letter from them this Yule.”

Lying through her teeth. Sometimes she wondered how it was possible that Dumbledore had never mentioned them living in an orphanage to Slughorn. But then, why would he?

Now, she sat on a loveseat in the common room, drinking tea with the almost thirty girls Dorea had managed to gather. Her friend loved those things, Anya – not so much, but at least it was a useful way to make herself remember the girl’s names. Most them were shrewd, or gossipers, or too naïve for her liking.  

Anya had rushed into the seat at the side of Athena Rosier – a seventh year that had less interest for gossip than even herself – as soon as she saw it empty. Dorea had sat by her side.

“So, will you be going back home this Yule?” Anya asked the large group, over her cup of hibiscus tea. That was the only subject she had with all those girls reunited – making sure the less number of them were at the Hogwarts Express when it was attacked.

 “But of course! There is the Selwyn Ball to attend – don’t tell me you weren’t invited, Nastya?” Laelia Burke questioned, with false sympathy. Anya could hear her muttering “Is fame that fickle?” to Igraine Yaxley.

“As it happens, my sisters and I won’t be attending the Ball this year.” Callidora announced. “These are dangerous times, and it’s unsafe to go strolling out there.”

“But with the porkeys it should be perfectly safe! We will be portkeying out of King’s Cross to the manor, and from there to the other manors.” Clemency Rowle reasoned. “Unless you think Hogsmeade will be attacked again?” The girl paled.

“Well, if that is the case, Nastya will always be ready, won’t you?” Brianna had said, with some venom but too many chuckles to be truly poisonous.

 “Of course, Brianna, but Ally wasn’t wrong in her saying. Hogwarts has always been the safest place of Britain – with the exception of Gringotts, but I doubt any of you wishes to spend Yule with goblins – and with the addition of aurors in Hogsmeade is even more secure. Manors can have strong wards, but wards can be broken. Besides, the Hogwarts Express travels a little too close to Yorkshire.”

“I will stay as well.” Dorea informed them. “Great Ganilly is not very much to look in December. What about you, Nastya? I suppose we will have our first Yule together!”

“Probably. I still have to speak with Tom, but I don’t see what reason we would have to go back.”

][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

She was at the Great Hall, surrounded by familiar faces. “Tom!” One voice called, and she saw a head of auburn hair approaching. “Thanks Merlin! Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine, don’t be overdramatic – you are not a Malfoy.” The melodious voice she knew so well.

“I couldn’t believe when I saw the Prophet. Oh those poor children. At least the train could bring back safely most students.” That was a feminine voice, and her hands were pressed over a newspaper. In front of it, photography flashed, and she saw blood.

Blood and children.

Her sight changed, and she was once again seeing a newspaper with flashing photographs of blood and children – but this time there was train burning among them. The newspaper closed, and one of the hands who held it passed to the person at the left. The right hand grabbed a chalice – and she saw a reflection on it, black hair and indigo eyes.

At her side, a gasp. The melodious voice spoke again: “Sad, isn’t it?”

The person at the side cried out: “They are all dead!” She knew this voice, but it was so sorrowful she couldn’t identify.

][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Anya woke up screaming. Thanks Merlin she had placed silencing charms over her bed.

What in the name of Morgana and Merlin was that?

They had been alive – most of them. But then, they had died. And Tom – Tom had been in both, but in different roles. How could those two things happen one after other? There would be two attacks – one after the other? One year and another year?

Anya shuddered. There had been so much blood. So much death and sorrow. She couldn’t sleep. The people she saw dying – they were still alive! They were still asleep, under the same of roof of this damned castle she lived in. They were children, and she knew they would die – all of them would die, and she couldn’t not do anything.

She had received that power to do the difference. If she saw things that couldn’t be changed, why did she saw them? Why did she saw deaths and nothing less grievous if not to stop them? What’s the use of knowing something if this knowledge cannot be used to anything at all? Information that cannot have a purpose is just a waste of space brain.

But she knew the future. She knew what was coming. She must be able to change it.

Anya got out her bed and reached for her divination instruments.

She needed to know more.

][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Tom knew something was terribly wrong when he was unable to find Anya during the whole Saturday and half Sunday. Dorea had informed him over Sunday breakfast that the witch hadn’t showed up in their rooms last night neither. He had send students around the whole in search for her – almost like a manhunt, truly – but nothing.

It was almost as if she had disappeared from the school grounds.

Then, he remembered. A cavern under the lake – a dream like scenery – out of the school grounds. But not out of Hogwarts.

What he found there was quite like the Anya he remembered – but it was similar looking. His Anya had silky dark hair a bit down her shoulders, mischievous rich green eyes, fashionable robes, and her lips were rosy just like her cheeks. He was quite found of his Anya.

This girl’s hair wasn’t silky – it defied gravity – her eyes were the same green, but there was also a lot of red – irritated by scratching  and crying he would said – her robes could still be fashionable – if the last fashion was torn fabric that’s it – her lips were more reded by blood running out of bite marks than by a blush. She saw him at the moment he arrived.

“Tom – you must go! The children, I can stop it…I know I can.” Her words were mutters, but he understood them after all. “We must, Tom. Is my duty, you see it?”

She didn’t sound as crazed as she looked, he had to admit, although her words were quite nonsensical. But he was also sure she hadn’t lost her brain or anything that drastic, as he had feared for a moment.

She was only hysterical. Duty apparently – yes, he always thought she was a bit too honourable for a Slytherin.

Her breath was short – frustrated – and she walked on the tip of her toes – anxious and thoughtful. Well, there was some reason to be there as it seemed. He grabbed her shoulders, to stop her from jumping around.

Her eyes stared at him – only half crazed. With that he could deal, he supposed. Her eyes suddenly fogged over and closed, and he knew she was having a vision.

Her body shook, and her fingernails dig on his arms while he held her closely. Her mouth opened in a scream, a heart-wrecking howl that spoke of pain and terror, and lasted so long he couldn’t believe she still had breath. When she couldn’t howl anymore, her teeth bit her lips in an attempt to shut it down, and her nails moved down his arms, leaving bleeding cuts on his flesh. And then her mouth closed and her eyes opened again.

For a second. He could see the fog taking over the corner of it once again. Her eyes were begging to make it stop.

He kissed her.

It tasted like blood, and there was no surprise there he supposed. But her lips were quite good, if not a bit more brittle than what they usually should be. She was not struggling against his arms nor scratching them, so he supposed the visions had ended.

He let her go.

“Are we going to London at Christmas?” Were her first words to him.

“That depends. I need to go to Gringotts and discover more about the Gaunt’s possessions – I was fairly sure that we would be able to defend ourselves from whichever attack that Grindelwald’s sends on us. But if your visions –“

“You don’t need to worry about my visions. You remain unscathed either way, of that I assure you. We will go to London, then.” She seemed back to sanity again, so he allowed her to walk back her instruments, which she immediately began to pack with a wave of wand.

She looked her own appearance on her scrying glass, and with a another wave of wand her hair seemed silk again, her lips were rose of rouge, her robes in the last fashion and her eyes just green – not even mad. She still had dark bags under the eyes, but those were ever present in the last months.

“Are you feeling better?” He inquired, her breath was still a bit short, and only her toes touched the floor.

“Ask me that when the war is over. Until then, continue to give me kisses.” She said, approaching him once again, her bag floating behind her. He smiled, and he almost could see the mischievous gleam on her eyes again when raised tilted her chin up.

His lips downed on hers, and her hands wrapped around his neck as his held her waist. For a moment, there was just them, under the Great Lake, the winter light illuminating their forms as they kissed – it was a press of lips just, but there was some kind of power in it.

Then he got tired of it, he wanted more power. She groaned when he nibbled her lips, and she opened her mouth to his tongue. Tom discovered he liked the way her head moved to his ministrations, she met up with him in half of the way, and he pushed. He liked the way she almost breathlessly took it, it was oddly satisfactory. He liked her that way, and he also liked her smirk against his mouth when they caught their breaths.

“What is so amusing to you, Anya?” He had asked.

“I don’t smirk because I find things funny, Tom.” She answered, her tongue dashing out that mouth to lick his lips. He caught it and gave her one last kiss, a bit more than a peck.

And they went back.

][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

That kiss had been the beginning of many. She hadn’t told anyone, to tell the truth, she didn’t have anyone to tell to – anything involving Tom was not be shared with other houses, and it wasn’t as if she could go to the Slytherin boys. Brianna would be a bad choice, she could get quite jealous of others and Anya knew that although the girl flirted quite a lot, she had never kissed anyone (the whole Slytherin would know the day Brianna Gagwilde had her first kiss, the girl would make sure of that). Dorea, although she had long declared to be hunting for marriage wasn’t quite interested in romance.

Even though Anya wasn’t sure her relationship with Tom was quite a romance. Their first kiss together had been under a lake home to a colony of merpeople and a giant squid, after Anya had spent two days without slept, food, bath or brushing teeth; obsessing over her sight gift which was showing her the death of several. Their kiss had had the only purpose of stopping her of seeing more blood being spilled, and she had just injured the same person she had kissed. She had no illusions of why Tom had done that. He hadn’t felt more attracted for a crazed version of her. But a vision could be stopped if enough attention of it was redirected, and a kiss was rather distracting.

The second kiss they had shared – that one Tom had given her because of fondness and relief, she supposed, and because she had asked. She was quite glad she had had time to apply a few cleaning charms and healing charms between the first and the second. The settling hadn’t been more romantic, although the cavern under the lake was quite beautiful, no one could ignore a bag of floating divination instruments.

Their third kiss had happened because they enjoyed the second, and since then, they were enjoying which one a bit more. They were taking time to discover what gave them more enjoyment – they weren’t the best kissers in Hogwarts, of that she was sure, but  they were learning. And maybe one day, they would be. Or maybe they wouldn’t be – but they would know to give kiss which would be the best to the other. For now, that was enough. She didn’t care much about romance.

They had chosen a cabin for themselves in the Hogwarts Express, and Tom had placed many protective charms over it. Anya had placed protections over many other cabins in the train, silently wishing for their occupants’ well-being. She hadn’t explained her visions further to Tom, and he, surprisingly, hadn’t inquired about them. 

They didn’t have any need to make excuse for housemates, as they were mostly alone. Of the Blacks, only Lucretia was at the train as she would be visiting her fiancée this year. Charlus and Fleamont Potter were also at the train, despite Anya’s failed attempts at stopping them – Charlus had told her he had family matters to resolve. She had instructed him in being more careful than ever.

Anya felt as if she had already failed – despite her efforts, there were too many children in the train. Perhaps her advices would have been more effective if she had stayed behind in Hogwarts as well. But it had been the first time her visions had given her an option. She had taken awhile to recognise it – Mistress Myradd had talked about it though, hadn’t she? Her divination teacher had mentioned that Cassandra Vablatsky was able to choose between courses of actions.

She had seen it. She could understand her visions. Tom and her could go to London, and watch many die around them; or they could stay at Hogwarts, and be the causers of even more deaths. It had been an easy choice – one she hadn’t told Tom she had to make. Tom wouldn’t have risked one second of his life for others, even though she saw him unharmed after all. So she had been vague, he didn’t need a reason to refuse to go to London, if he knew he wouldn’t be suffering anything. He didn’t need to know her reason to go to London.

She thought about all of that as her mouth reflexive responded to the lips over hers. They were kissing, enjoying themselves a bit. Her arms were around his neck, while his hands held her over his lap, her legs over the bench. Anya hummed, moving her hand to Tom’s hair, playing with his dark strands.

She felt absent-minded over all those kisses, which left her breathless. Glancing over the scenery, she could see the Cheviot Hills covered by snow, meaning they had just reached Northumberland. Anya pushed herself out of Tom’s lap, taking her wand out of its holster, her eyes frozen at the window.

Tom looked over the scenery as well. “In less than a half an hour we must be reaching Durham.” He drawled, taking over her wand in hands with a nod – and reaching for one of his books. Anya knew she should be distracting herself as well, but she couldn’t her calmness as Tom was doing with his. Even considering the fact less people should die with their presence, many were still going to end up dead – and the risks were too great to trying to prevent it.

And then, there were the questions: What if she was wrong? What if her visions weren’t options, and everyone died nevertheless? What if neither of them survived? She was relying over a thing that was a bit more trustful than a dream? – how could Tom trust her when she knew she didn’t?

“You are anxious.” Tom remarked. “Taking on account the considerable amount of times you have seen a similar setting, shouldn’t you feel more confident?”

“I am aware of death of over fifty students. Shouldn’t I be doing something to prevent it?”

“I believe the actions of seers are usually ruled by the idea they are unable to mutate fate. How can you be responsible for death only because you are aware of its occurrence? We all know death will happen; only most of people have less information about it than you. Is very similar to a fatal disease, be a doctor or an uneducated pheasant, one cannot prevent it from killing – only to lessen its effects.”

“Smallpox was one of the deadliest diseases on Earth once.” She pointed out.

“It’s still very harmful.” He said, without looking out of the words in his book.

“Never a wizard died of smallpox, however. Can’t you see? There must be a way of preventing it. Maybe it’s unknown to us, just like the cure to smallpox is unknown to muggles, but it must exist.” They were at the Penine Chain by now – Anya held her wand tighter.

“I should never have mentioned smallpox.” The annoyance was strong in his voice, but she had to speak.

“It happens with most diseases that infect muggles. We have the solution in magic. These can be stopped, Tom –”

“Let them die, Anya!” He shouted, his face rising from the book, angry. “They hardly matter, don’t you see? They are war victims – you can try to prevent death, but war will always create it, much more than your visions can show.”

The witch stopped, staring at the wizard in front of her; he almost seemed like a vile creature, cold and uncaring – frozen in his nonchalance. “One day, I might see your death. Would you like me to prevent it, then?” She asked poisonously.

He looked back to his book, refusing to answer. She returned her gaze to the window; the snow washed the hills outside.

The first man appeared not much latter – hair blonde and small stature, she could see his eyes from that distance, they were pale blue and almost innocent, although his face wasn’t much. He wore the white robes of Grindelwald. His eyes stared into hers, even though he was a mile away.

“They are here.” She whispered, standing up to her feet.

A moment later, the train stopped and a scream was heard. Something exploded not very far away. She rushed to the door, but a hand held her wrist before she could open it. “You are a Slytherin. Act like it.” Tom ordered. She looked down his direction, he still held the book in hands, but his wand was also in it.

“Stop with all this nonsense, Anya.” He commanded, never taking his eyes of the damned book.

“People will die. I won’t.”

 “You are not a Gryffindor, for heaven’s sake. Only because they called you Hestia of People it doesn’t mean you have to answer to every desperate scream.”

“I am not at risk.” She freed her arm from his grip with a hard tug. “Remember, you will live as well.”

“I wasn’t scared of that, you must be aware.” She shrugged in response and walked past the doorway.

The Palladines hadn’t reached that part of the train, but there were several terrified children in the cabins. They would break into the train by the front, the aurors would be fighting against the troops outside. She could feel the anti-apparation and anti-portkey wards up, in nine square miles range. Another explosion shook the train and she threw one cabin door open – inside of it, six second years stared at her, in fear.

She was at most one year older than those children, probably less, and she had been younger than them last year in Hogsmeade. But that didn’t matter, because she was sure of her safety and of her battle skills – as few they were. Those kids weren’t ready for more than a friendly duel in classroom.

“Get to the back of the train, they are coming through the front. Bring everyone you see with you. Search for a seventh-year, in two miles from the end of the train – to west, you must be able to apparate.”

One of them looked at her in suspicion. But before the boy could speak anything, a girl in ponytail elbowed him. “She is the Girl-Who-Protected, Sebastian! Thank you, Ms. Donbyre!”

And then they left, and Anya repeated the same order to many others as she ran through the corridor. Everytime she opened the door of one of the cabins she could see the images of the aurors fighting against the palladines. Everytime, there seemed to be less aurors.

The screams seemed closer now, and as she looked into the next wagon, she could see two white-robed wizards dragging students out of their cabins. The door was locked with a strong locking charm.

“Deprimo!” She shouted, digging a large hole through said door. In such an enclosed and crowded space such like the Hogwarts Express, explosions and fire should be altogether avoided for the safety of the others. Thankfully, despite her pyromaniac fame, her book of spells didn’t include only those. “Diffindo.” An over-powered severing charm cut through one of the soldier’s robes, relieving the man of one arm. “Petrificus Totalus.” And the man was immobilised. He would bleed to death, she supposed. She didn’t care.

The man’s partner was a bit faster on his feet however, and this one didn’t waste a second sending a entrail-expeling curse in her direction. She protected herself with a protego. “Avada Kedavra.” This one wasn’t there do play apparently, she barely was able to dodge this time.

“Deprimo.” She answered, but the man deflected it. One of the kids attempting to run into the wagon she just left was almost hit by it. She shifted to allow those children to walk pass her, and looking up she saw the soldier’s lips moving to cast a curse she knew she wouldn’t be able to dodge.

“Stupefy.” The man felt unconscious onto the ground. Behind him, was the caster of the spell. Charlus grinned at her. “Scamander taught it to me when dad died. Said it could be useful.”

She thanked him, and with a severing charm, slashed the unconscious Palladine’s throat. Charlus looked at her, a mixture of awe and horror. “Dead they don’t come back to haunt us.” She offered as an explanation, walking past him. “What will I see in the next wagon?”

“Nothing. They took out everyone that was still alive; I think they plan to use us as hostages. I sent Fleamont to the back of the train as soon as I saw them approaching the front.” The Gryffindor explained.

“Good. You should go now, it’s a two miles run out of the wards.” It was a dismissal, but Charlus didn’t quite understand that, considering the way he took her wrist. Why did her wrists attracted so many hands?

“I’ll only leave with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Charlie! You are the Head of the Family, you have an obligation. What will Fleamont do without you? My parents are dead! Tom is a cold bastard – I don’t need to respond to anyone, but your brother needs you. Go!” He stared at her, those green eyes peering on hers. He shook his head.

She pushed him through the doorway, and sealed it shut.

Anya looked at the two bodies around her. The man without one arm was still alive, bleeding too slowly in his frozen body. She cut through his neck skin as well, and red tainted his neckline.

There was only one more wagon, and just as Charlus had told her – it was only filled by corpses. She counted twelve, of several ages. She didn’t know the name of any of them – but she remembered many of those faces filling their cheeks with food at the Great Hall. Then she saw one she had shared some classes with, a Gryffindor boy with mud-coloured hair, Percival Pratt. He was Charlus’s roommate.

She stepped down the train, and her vision was invaded by known images of gore. She had seen them so many time, she almost could tell where all the actors of that scene were supposed to be. A willowy woman in white robes would be fighting a stocky man in grey auror robes, an elderly white robed man behind the Stocky would kill him. Willowy would ran through the snow, and drag a ginger girl in pigtails that had tried to run – she would relieve the girl of her wand, and then, cut out her left leg.

A huge woman in auror robes would be taken down by a bleach haired young man, with classy features. A beautiful girl much similar to the bleach man would be stupefied by a bald auror. Bleach would fall into Bald with a scream, and revive Beautiful. Beautiful killed Bald with a knife.

Bleach was attacked by a swarthy auror, blood-splattered. Swarthy began to fight both Bleach and Elderly, while Beautiful went to fight other aurors. A group of ten Palladines held circa of fifteen students under the cruciatus, and more would come.

They would kill all the muggle-borns and light-affiliated students they found. They already were, she noticed, flinching when two killing curses hit a sixteen year Ravenclaw girl and one fourth-year Gryffindor. There were others bleeding to death;

All that was happening in less than a minute, as she knew it would. She didn’t need her eyes to take that visage, she had it engraved on her mind. She was aware another group of Palladines would invade the train, even before they decided to do so. She was the only thing between that group and the Hogwarts Express.

Leading that group, was the gold blonde small man she had seen still in her cabin. She knew the man’s robes had been white, but now they were completely crimson. He had looked very elegant before the beginning of the attack – but now, he looked wild.

She wondered herself how she might look. Knowing about the upcoming battle, she had dressed herself in non-restrictive wool robes, with tight long sleeves and a one layer skirt. A leather overcoat for extra-protection – all in pale beige, making her less of a target in the snow and more easily confounded as a Palladine (which was useful, because aurors rarely tried to kill, but Grindelwald’s forces were murders – their curses were more lethal). Her robes should be tainted just like Gold’s – her boots and her gloves certainly were.

Gold couldn’t see her though. Not if she wished to free those students. She disillusioned herself, and made her body float a little over the snow. The aurors were losing, there weren’t more than ten on the field by now. And they were overpowered by many.

Another explosion shook the train, and then she saw it. They were twenty-four, she could count those heads. Students. Upperclassmen mostly, but leading them was none other than Tom. Her Tom. He seemed so powerful, blasting curses left and right. His curses drawn blood of those soldiers near the train, and caused death.

His eyes washed the scenery, and stopped at where was her disillusioned form. She smirked, at nodded at him, even though she was aware he couldn’t see her. She pulled her body above the snow, and with a confringo spell, Beautiful was exploded to death. Anya raised a wall of fire around the remaining children, but she could see only four of those would be able to live – that, if she managed to take them out of there.

She had seen two of those girls in her visions. Gryffindor crying in the snow. One of them had light brown hair and chocolate eyes, her skin olive, her face bony – Augusta Urquarth. The other had dark brown hair and dark blue eyes, her cheeks rosy and her face soft – Euphemia Twonk. There was also a boy with freckles and blonde hair she believed was a muggle-born named Cameron, and a bushy dark haired girl that was also a muggle-born, Willis.

She took them into her hands, disillusioning their forms and pulling them through the snow. Their legs were weakened by the cruciatus curse, and their minds slowed by the pain. She kept pulling and pushing, avoiding looking at the other children’s bodies and dodging curses. Her illusions were weakening, five weren’t as easy to maintain as one. A sixth year blonde Hufflepuff saw her form struggling in the snow, and left his position to run in aid.

The Palladine he had just fought wasn’t as unconscious as he believed though, and Anya only had enough time to drop her illusion and scream a blasting curse into the soldier direction; the Hufflepuff looked in fright to her. She smiled and pulled Willis and Cameron to her, leaving the two pure-blood girls a bit behind.

“Tenebre flammare!” a voice shouted. Immediately, a wall of fire was raised through the two muggle-born forms – burning those children alive.

It was fire, undying fire, burning meters above her. So similar to Hogsmeade, but this time, she didn’t control it. The wall had miles, she could see. And she also could see their reason behind it. The wards had been breached in the west side, but by raising the wall they isolated themselves from the aurors.

Across the flames, she could see the two girls’ faces, terrified of the wizards and witches in white robes that surrounded them – they had immobilised the with the Full-Body Bind Curse. One of them was the golden blonde man, he smirked at her.

“Anastasia Donbyre. Hestia of People. The Girl-Who-Protected. Not so funny when your spells are turned against you, eh? It’s a pity you couldn’t protect these two.” He said, hitting Augusta’s stomach with his foot, the girl groaned.

“My name precedes me? I fear I don’t know yours, Goldilocks.”

“It’s Bastian Vasala.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Well, we should rectify that, shouldn’t we?” His wand was on Euphemia, merciless. The girl’s eyes were flooded by fright.  “Avada Ke-“

“You don’t want to kill these girls, Vasala.”

“It’s a Urquarth and a Twonk – mud-lovers both of them, you can be sure I want.”

“What can the Dark Lord do with two more corpses? He has no use for them. But he wants me – he has spies on me, I know. Take me to him, leave this girls alone.”

The man smirked at her. “You might think yourself as intelligent now. Anastasia Donbyre, you have no idea how stupid you are. Very well, I accept the exchange.”

“Swear on your magic that you will free Augusta Urquarth and Euphemia Twonk alive, and allow them to return to their homes.”

“I, Bastian Vasala, swear on my magic to free Augusta Urquarth and Euphemia Twonk alive and allow them to return to their homes if Anastasia Donbyre comes without struggle with us, leaving her wand behind.” The magic settled itself, validating the vow. “Now, why don’t you roll your wand away, sweetheart?”

Anya did as the wizard commanded. He was laughing. He waved his wand just once, and the wall changed itself, englobing her into its clutches, and releasing the two younger girls from the Palladines’ hold.

A hand grabbed her shoulder. “You have no idea what awaits you, sweetheart.” The whisper was deadly, and she felt the wards breaking around them at the same moment a she felt a tug on her stomach.

The Palladines apparated, taking her with them.


	31. Character Profiles

Name: Anastasia Lynda Donbyre

Born: 2nd May, 1927 (arrived in time) 31st July, 1980

Family: Harisa Donbyre née Max and Sigmund Donbyre (false) / Lily Potter née Evans and James Potter

Skills: good-researcher, playing cello and harp, dancing, flying, appareting, sneaking, duelling, acting, stealing, parseltongue, mermish, gobblededork, seer, blood-magic

Likes: chocolate, books, ballet, classical music, treacle tart, chocolate liqueur, hibiscus tea with a spoon of honey, lying, outdoors, foxes, Vienna, indigo, transfiguration, runes, cello, lily (beauty, elequance, coquetry), sachertorte

Dislikes: gillywater, dancing, betting, studying, hard-working, stupidicy, mind arts

School Register: Student of Hogwarts, prefect. Extras: Orchestra, Ancient Studies, Magical Theory, Theatre, Duelling. Electives: Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Divination (drops at sixth year), Alchemy (6th-7th year).  O in everything.

Wand: 11’’, holly, phoenix feather,  nice and supple

Appearance: raven-black silky long hair at hips (shoulder short by 1940), emerald roundish almond eyes, fair skin, soft features, heart shaped face, rosy lips, slender, 5’4’’ feet, 92 Ilbs

Relationships: Tom Riddle Jr. (partner in crime, confident, lover); Eoessa Cadogan (love interest, friend), Ragnar Lestrange (love interest, friend, ally), Harfang  (best male friend), Dorea Black (friend, maid of honour, ally), Orion Black (friend, ally), Abraxas Malfoy (friend, ally), Brianna Gagwilde (friend, rival), Maeve Kearney (friend), Deodor Fronsac (friend), Sean Catchlove (friend), Charlus Potter (friend) Antonin Dolohov (ally, rival), Elizabeth Kneeler (enemy), Albus Dumbledore (teacher, enemy), Domink Meier (enemy), Black Family (friendship, debt), Knights of Walpurgis (subjects, allies), Death Eaters (subjects), etc…

Personality: She is attractive, charming, powerful, and good-humored. She is really dependant, but also rebellious. She is a childish adult. She has a great perception of the world and manipulates everyone to do what she wants, without having any apparent reason. She follows Tom’s lead because it’s comfortable to her, and going against it it’s too much of a hassle, but she is also the only one who can manipulate him in doing what she wants. She is a sleeping lioness, that if bothered, is ferocious. She is a good friend, caring even and a charming girl. Sassy but educated.

Mannerisms: Tilting head when friendly. Short breaths when frustrated. Tip of toes when anxious and reflective. Likes to hide in weird places, quoting.

Greatest flaw: Her pride and lies.

Best quality: Her charm and wisdom.

Duelling style: Creative. She only uses the necessary skill she needs to a combat, but she isn’t very addicted to spells with direct effects. She enjoys using transfiguration and runes in battle. She uses her environment, and she adapts. Prefers defending to attacking an equal or a better.

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Name: Tom Marvolo Riddle

Born:31st December, 1926

Family: Tom Riddle Sr. (father), Merope Gaunt (mother), Morfin Gaunt (uncle), Marvolo Gaunt (grandfather), Thomas Riddle (grandfather), Mary Riddle (grandmother), Salazar Slytherin (ancestor), Cadmus Peverell (ancestor)

Skills: playing violin, animal empath, torture, mind arts, necromancy, strategy, politics, duelling, parseltongue, dancing, flying, lying

Likes: control, books, snakes, politics, history, alchemy, potions, dark arts, firewhiskey, wine, classical music, killing, cinnamon and pepper, black, quintin black, wolfsbane (misanthropy)

Dislikes: subduing, sweets, herbology, fear, hospitals

School Register: Student of Hogwarts, prefect and head boy. Extras: Ancient Studies, Orchestra, Ghoul Studies, Fencing. Electives: Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Care and Alchemy (6th and 7th year). O in everything.

Wand: 13 ½ inches, phoenix feather, yew, unyielding

Appearance: Ink-black hair wavy, indigo blue  hooded eyes, heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, full lips. Atheletic 6’1’’ and 163 Ilbs.

Relationships: Anya (partner in crime, lover), Ragnar (friend, second-in-command, ally), Abraxas (friend, ally), Knights of Walpurgis (allies, minions), Death Eaters (minions), Dumbledore (enemy), muggles (enemies)

Personality: exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements. Preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love. Believes that he is "special" and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people,  unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his expectations, takes advantage of others to achieve his own ends, is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others. He is the leader guy.

Mannerisms: Checking nails when bothered, frowing when reading or bothered, hands behind back when standing, large confident steps, tightly clenched hands when angry, quoting.

Greatest flaw: Moodiness.

Best quality: Intelligence, charisma.

Duelling style: lethal. He always aims to kill or to maim, and  he doesn’t measures his hits because of his excess of power. It doesn’t matter if you are weak or powerful, he will hit you with the same feracity. The only difference is how long you stand duelling with him. Attacker.

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Name: Ragnar Lestrange

Born: 11th October, 1926

Family: Reimond Lestrange (father) Ambrosia Lestrange (mother) Gregorian Greengrass (uncle +) Apolo Greengrass (grandfather) Laurelia Greengrass (grandmother +) Leta Lestrange (aunt, born in 18980

Skills: pratical, flexible, articulate, Exploding snap, chess, betting, studying, duelling, quidditch,

Likes: exploding snap, chess, vanilla, joking, meat, firewhiskey, forest-green, hunting, lotus (eloquence)

Dislikes: history, herbology, losing, fruits, heavy scents

School Register: Student of Hogwarts. Extras: Fencing Club, Magical Theory. Electives: Care and Runes.  O in Charms and DADA. E in Transfiguration, Potions, Care and Runes. A in Astronomy and Herbology. P in History. 

Wand: 12”, dragon heartstring, black walnut, pliant                                                                  

Appearance: Auburn long hair, sharp features, tanned skin, hazel downturned eyes. 5’9” feet, 154 Ilbs.

Relationships: Abraxas Malfoy (best friend), Clemency Rowle (best female friend) Tom Riddle (love interest, best friend), Anya Donbyre (love interest, friend), Maeve Kearney (love interest, girlfriend, plaything), Orion Black (friend), Dorea Black (friend), Caelum Nott (friend), Alphard Black (friend),

Personality: of those Ragnar is the most manipulative besides Tom. He is bisexual and has a relationship with Avery, he is greatly attracted to Astrea and Tom at the same time, latter plays for interest. He loves power and is rather sharp. A sweet talker, sassy, spontaneous crazy, a friendly, he gets irritated with emotions and can be a bit cold.  Diplomatic and sociable, manipulative and self-indulgent.

Ragnar is the opposite to Abraxas. He comes from a passionate family – his parents Reimond and Ambrosia are purely physical – they only come to agreements through sex and every discussion of them must led to sex. But Ragnar is a cold man, he may seem gaudy sometimes, but he isn’t. Everything is business to him.

Mannerisms: Fast walker, sees dirty jokes on everything, plays with everything in his reach. Rubs neck when frustrated.

Greatest flaw: His vanity.

Best quality: Spontaneous.

Duelling style: Search flaws, measaured. Duelling spells usually, contained but harsh.

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Name: Abraxas Septimus Malfoy XII

Born: August 15th 1927

Family: Octavius Malfoy XVIII (father) Alexia Black III (mother) Aurelia Malfoy (cousin of father)  Brianna Gagwilde (second cousin) Cressida (sister +) Ceasarus Malfoy (uncle) Tacita Malfoy-Selwyn (aunt)  Virginia Malfoy-Selwyn (aunt in law) Livius Malfoy (grandfather +) Aspasia Malfoy née Prewett (grandmother +) Porcius Malfoy (granduncle) Hydrangea Malfoy née Parkinson (grandaunt-in-law, +) Elizabeth Malfoy née Parkinson (grandaunt-in-law, +)

Skills: amiable, persevering, innovative, gob-stones player,  archery, womanizer,

Likes: gob-stones, archery, wine, ferrets, history, woman, music, charms, chocolate, French cusine, acting, fashion, ivory, amaryllis (pride, splendid beauty)

Dislikes: spicy food, transfiguration, firewhiskey, DADA

School Register: Student of Hogwarts. Extra: Theatre Club, Maenad Club. Electives: Runes, Divination. O in Charms, Runes and History, E in Herbology and Potions, A in Astronomy, Transfiguration, DADA. P in Divination.

Wand:11 ½ inches, unicorn hair, spruce

Appearance: Silver blonde hair, blue downturned grey eyes, heart shaped face. 5’7” feet and 144 Ilbs.

Relationships: Ragnar  (best friend), Tom (great friend), Anya (love interest), Dorea (best female friend), Alphard (friend), Justus Nott (friend), Flavius Rosier (friend), Dolohov (friend), Elaine Bones (courtship), Brianna (plaything, second cousin) Amy Plunkett (plaything), Henrietta Fronsac (plaything), Marlene Prewett (plaything), etc.Clemency Rowle (fiancée)

Personality: a little businessman that admires his father. Latter he comes to see his father in a new light, with some resentment because of his old-fashioness and betrayal of mother. He views the man as an old decrepit lion and has new ideas. A player, too. He is the playboy.

The Malfoys are a Regal family. Octavius and Alexia Malfoy have a business-like relationship, and while they are friends, they lack the desire for each other. They are very cold and frozen, and the perfect son for them would be Ragnar, not Abraxas. Abraxas is an idealist, and he wants to make the world better in his eyes. He is passionate and he loves loving.

Mannerisms: Extremely touchy, likes flirting, taps his foot when bored, crosses arms in suspicion, clear throat when nervous.

Greatest flaw: Self-centred.

Best quality: Desire to do things better.

Duelling style: dramatic, large movements and difficult incantations, he is an attacker, uses several spells even though most of them are poor.

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Name: Dorea Lyra Black

Born: 19th  April, 1927

Family: Cygnus Black II (father) Violetta Bulstrode (mother) Ursula Flint (grandmother) Phineas Nigellus Black (grandfather)  Pollux Black (brother) Irma Black née Crabbe (sister-in-law) Cassiopeia Black (sister) Marius Black (brother – removed, squib) Walburga (niece) Cygnus III (nephew) Alphard (nephew) Sirius Black (uncle) Hesper Black née Gamp (aunt-in-law) Arcturus (cousin) Melania (cousin-in-law) Lycoris (cousin) Regulus (cousin) Arcturus (uncle) Lysandra (aunt-in-law) Callidora (cousin) Cedrella (cousin) Charis (cousin) Belvina Burke (aunt)  Herbet Burke (uncle in law) Elfrida (step-cousin) Attila (cousin) Ferbus (cousin) Laelia (cousin)

Skills: resourceful, realistic and analytical. Piano playing, dancing, horse riding, poetry

Likes: gossip, conversation, dancing, gillywater, Indian food, imperial purple, horses, her owl Vega. Trumpet flower (fame)

Dislikes: confinement, Chinese food, the colour yellow, rum, brandy

School Register: Student of Hogwarts. Extras: Astronomy Club. Electives: Arithmancy, Care. O in Transfiguration and Astronomy. E in Charms, DADA, Arithmancy, Care and Potions. A in History and Herbology.

Wand: 13”, dragon heartstring, maple, brittle

Appearance: Dark hair, sharp features, full lips, downturned hazel eyes, pale skin. 115 Ilbs 5’8 feet

Relationships: Anya (best friend), Abraxas (best male friend), Orion (brother in everything but blood), Brianna (great friend), Charlus Potter (rivaltry, love interest, fiancée), Ragnar (friend), Flavius (friend), Alphard (great friend), Demetrius Rowle (friend, courtship), Clemency Rowle (friend), Mab Anne-Perks (protégee, friend)

Personality: the ambitious. Dorea is the younger of her siblings, but she is mature and rigid. She is a bit spoiled, she is difficult to please though. She is a good listener and supporting friend, but demands to be supported too. Despite being mature, Dorea is used to having the world cycling around her. She likes to gossip and easily takes the whole conversation.

Mannerisms: Braids hair when bored or nervous, fistlike gestures when frustrated, open arms when comfortable

Greatest flaw: Stubbornness, bossy

Best quality: Warm-hearted

Name:  Eoessa Law Cadogan

Born: 27th July, 1927

Family: Eos Law Cadogan (mother, half-blood) Uther Cadogan (father) Euphemia Law Cadogan (sister) Lawrence Diggory (brother-in-law)

Skills: painting, quidditch, photographic memory

Likes: painting, flowers, fur, black, rowan, lilac, absinthe, butterbeer , freedom, fighting, yellow acacia (secret love), Austrian rose (thou art all that is lovely)

Dislikes: blue, brandy, studying, following leaders

School Register: Student of Hogwarts. Extra: Art Club. Electives: Muggle Studies, Divination. O in Potions. E in Charms, Muggle Studies, DADA. A in Divination, Transfiguration. D in History, Herbology.

Wand: 15” inches, unicorn hair, beech, hard

Appearance: Olive skin, short dark hair – shin length with bangs, ocean blue wide-set eyes, cupid bow lips, athetic body. 5’7 feet, 112 Ilbs.

Relationships: Anya (best friend, love interest) Maeve (best friend) Dorea (friend), Deodor Fronsac (friend) Sean Catchlove (friend) Gerda Cathlove (friend) Alphard (friend) Harfang (friend) Charlus (friend) Georgiana Moon (friend) Jeanne Wilkins (friend) Damara Dodderidge (friend) Mab Anne-Perks (friend), Andros Avery (great friend, likes her), Tom (rivaltry)

Personality: the tomboy. She is really clumsy but also quite witty, clever and amusing. She is talkative and likes to discuss things. She has kind of a crush in Anya, and for a long time she keeps blushing when talking with her, before kissing her. She likes to dirty herself and knows to read the situations well. Brunette pixie hair

Mannerisms: makes toys of casual objects, draws eyes everywhere, bouncy walk, touchy-feely person, sideway glance when suspicious

Greatest flaw: Resentful

Best quality: Faithful, loving

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Name: Orion Arcturus Black

Born: 17th March, 1927

Family: Arcturus Black III (father) Melania Macmillian (mother) Lucretia Black (sister) Sirius Black II (grandfather) Hesper Gamp (grandmother) Lycoris (aunt) Regulus (uncle) Lyra (cousin, adopted in the status as distant cousin) Dorea (cousin of father)

Skills: dancing, hunting, quidditch, sword-fighting

Likes: star-gazing, the colour gray, daisy root draught, firewhisky, butterbeer, hunting, quidditch , jokes, betting, seafood, blue periwinkle (early friendship)

Dislikes: dancing, social-talk, killing, babies

School Register: Student of Hogwarts. Wizard Card Collectors’ Club, Team (chaser), Arithmancy and Care. O in Astronomy and Arithmancy. E in DADA, History and Care. P in Charms, Poor, Herbology. D in Transfiguration;

Wand: 11” inches, phoenix feather,  poplar

Appearance: dark wavy hair, almond shaped gray eyes, full lips, sharp features; gangly, 161 Ilbs 5’7 feet

Relationships: Justus Nott (best friend) Demetrius Rowle (great friend) Caelum Nott (great friend) Abraxas (friend) Ragnar (friend) Tom (friend) Dorea (brother in everything but blood) Laws (friend) Charlus (friend) Anya (crush, friend) Brianna (friend) Dolohov (rivalry), etc.

Personality: he is the childish guy, the clown that always does something wrong. He is engaged to Walburga, but they have a bad relationship, as she is a stuck up bitch. He latter develops a hunger for money, and enjoys betting. Bad student, exemplar at astronomy; He is from a side branch of the family, and has to marry with Walburga to become the lord.

Mannerisms: collects mundane things, hands in pocket when nervous, puts things over mouth when thinking

Greatest flaw: Weak-will

Best quality: Easy-going

Name: Harfang Longbottom

Born: 5th September, 1926

Family: Hengist Longbottom (father) Edessa Strougler (mother) Augusta Urquart (sister-in-law) Algernon (brother) Enid (half-sister) Iris Lockhart (stepmother)

Skills: sword-fighting, runic fighting, dancing, politics

Likes: ambar an coral colour, honour, books of fiction, plants, magical creatures, fish and chips, children, chocolate, magnolia (dignity, love of nature)

Dislikes: dishonour, biographies, hospitals, closed places

School Register: Student of Hogwarts. Fencing Club. Care, Runes. O in Runes, Herbology, Transfiguration. E in DADA, Charms, Potions, Care. A in Astronomy, History.

Wand: 12 inches, unicorn hair, laurel, flexible

Appearance: Sandy blonde, oval face, crooked nose, almond green eyes, low cheekbones, 5’9 feet, 145 Ilbs.

Relationships: Callidora (unconditional love, fiancée, childhood friend) Charlus (best friend) Anya (best female friend, sister in everything but blood) Deodor (friend) Sean (friend) Gerda (friend) Laws (friend) Maeve (friend) Marlene Prewett (friend) Brutus Scrimgeour (friend) Cedrella (childhood friend) Charis (childhood friend) Caspar (childhood friend) Septimus (friend) Percival Pratt (rivaltry) Damara Dodderidge (friend) Natalie Twonk (friend) Walter Varden (friend) Fleamont Potter (friend), etc.

Personality: the laid back guy, who likes to maintain peace and it’s always good at calming others. Flexible and tolerant, he has high morals and always does what he thinks it’s the best for everyone, but never imposing his opinion. He is the best aspects of Gryffindor, noble and chivarlious, he does fairly well in his classes and he’s good in politics. Extremely protective of Callidora and Astrea, caring boyfriend. He is the nice guy.

Mannerisms: rubs thumbs when thoughtful, sits on the edge of chair when open, always carries chocolate with him

Greatest flaw: Idealism

Best quality: Honourable

Duelling style:

\---

Name: Brianna Gagwilde

Born: 4th February 1927

Family: Albus Gagwilde (father) Aurelia Malfoy (mother) Abraxas Malfoy (second cousin) Horatia Rosier née Carrow (half-aunt) Hyperion Rosier (half-cousin) Porcius Carrow (grandfather) Elizabeth Carrow née Flint (grandmother +) Alba Gagwilde (sister +) Dorian Gagwilde (brother +)

Skills: gossiping, conversation, ass-kissing, sewing, crochet, dancing, singing

Likes: music, dancing, singing, gossping, sewing, cerise colour, sweets, joke products, butterbeer, French marigold (jealously), caramels

Dislikes: tattoos, grunge appeareance, dirt, quidditich, seafood, firewhiskey potions

School Register: Student of Hogwarts. Theatre Club, Magical Theory Club. Divination and Care. O in Potions. E in Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology. A in DADA, Care, History. P in Astronomy and Divination.

Wand: 10 inches, dragon heartstring, chestnut, swishy

Appearance: Pixie pink blond hair, electric blue round eyes, snub nose, tanned skin, petite form. 5’4 feet, 103 Ilbs.

Relationships: Tom (crush) Abraxas (crush, second cousin) Alphard (friend, love interest) Ragnar (crush) Anya (crush, rivalry, friend) Dorea (best friend) Laws (rivalry) James von Rheticus (crush, friend) Walburga (friend) Charis (friend) Antonin (friend, crush)

Personality: the winner. She loves to be praised, she is always jealous of others. She is selfish and annoying  but she is really loyal. She always likes to talk about her friend’s lives, even if she gets jealous. Everything one has done she has already.  She has several crushes, most of them out of interest.

Mannerisms: knows everyone relationship, random wanders when bored, sways when insecure

Greatest flaw: Selfish

Best quality:Loyalty

Name: Antonin Dolohov

Born: 30th March, 1927

Family: Aurelius Dolohov (father) Domitia Dolohov (mother)

Skills: mind arts, politics, fighting, viola playing

Likes: politics, duelling, wine, creatures, pureblood surpremacy, music, siniging, firewhisky, the colour purple and green, dark arts, arum (ardour)

Dislikes: feminism, liqueur, dancing, astronomy, orange, sweets

School Register: Student of Hogwarts. Maenad Club, Fencing Club, team (beater). Care and Arithmancy O in Potions DADA and Arithmancy. E in Charms, Care, History. A in Herbology. P in Astronomy.

Wand: 9 inches, dragon heartstring, cherry, unyielding

Appearance: dark hair, ambar hooded eyes, aquiline nose, goatee, expressive features, built body. 6’2 feet, 194 Ilbs.

Relationships: Anya (love interest, rivalry) Tom (rivalry, friend, love interest) Abraxas (friend) Caelum Nott (friend) Demetrius Rowle (best friend) Argo Pyrites (friend) Caspar Crouch (great friend) Archibald Mucliber (great friend) Andros Avery (friend) Flavius Rosier (friend, rivalry) Dorea (friend, rivalry) Brianna (friend) Alphard (rivalry) Laws (rivalry)

Personality: also has a taste for power, and great surviving instincts. He is the kind of man that enters in a relationship because of duty, and has a fascination with Tom. He is one of the most machists of the boys, and is rather crude to Anya (but often he has dreams of her being tamed).   

Mannerisms: unbuttoned coat when open, points fingers when frustrated and defensive,  always carry things in pocket

Greatest flaw: Arrogance

Best quality: Responsability

Duelling style:

Name: Maeve Kearney

Born: 3rd March, 1927

Family: Niall Kearney (father, pureblood) Hailey Kearney (mother, muggleborn)

Skills: researching, studying, singing, 

Likes: runes, books, music, copper colour, floral scents, tea , pastries, magic, daisy (innocence)

Dislikes: alcohol, meat, turmoil, heights,

School Register: Student of Hogwarts, prefect. Frog Choir. Runes and Care. O in Charms, Herbology, Runes, Care, Transfiguration, Astronomy, History. E in DADa, Potions.

Wand: 12 inches, unicorn hair, pear, bendy

Appearance: Ginger hair, freckled,  jade-green round eyes, rosy skin, oval-shaped face. Hourglass figure. 5’6 feet, 118 Ilbs.  

Relationships: Laws (best friend) Anya (great friend) Dora (friend) Ragnar (love interest) Tom (friend, secret crush) Justus Nott (friend, love interest) Mab Anne Perks (friend) Henrietta Fronsac (friend) Hannah Bonaccord (friend)

Personality: the bookworm. She is very loyal, studious and concentrated. She loves magic, and studies about it all the time. She is someone who comprehends well people, yet, she is introvert.

Mannerisms:Extremely ticklish, poor eye contact and fidges when insecure, puts finger over mouth when thinking

Greatest flaw: Easily-led

Best quality: Compassion, selfless

Duelling style:

\--

Name: Flavius Rosier

Born: 13th November, 1926

Family: Merwyn Rosier (father) Ella Pivis (mother) Lord Blasius Rosier (uncle) Heir Hyperion Rosier (cousin) Druella (cousin once removed) Theodora Rosier née Prince (cousin in law) Gaius Rosier (uncle)  Horatia (aunt in law) Regulus (uncle in law) 

Skills: creature-knowledge, green-thumb, duelling, fighting

Likes: magical creatures, plants, archery, the colour gray, chocolate liquer, firewhisky, sweets, geranium (gentility)

Dislikes: pepper, mistreatment of animals, brandy, history, astronomy

School Register: Student of Hogwarts. Magical Creatures Club. Care, Runes. O in Care, Runes, Herbology. E in DADA, Transfiguration. A in Charms, Potions. D in History, Astronomy.

Wand: 13 inches, unicorn hair, chestnut, pliable

Appearance: Honey blonde hair short, blue-green upturned eyes, square face, sturdy body. 5’10 feet, 175 Ilbs.

Relationships: Andros Avery (best friend, love interest) Archibald Mulciber (friend) Anya (friend) Tom (friend) Dolohov (friend, rival) Abraxas (friend) Ragnar (friend) Dorea (friend) Alphard (friend) Lyall Lupin (best friend) Argo Pyrites (friend) Harfang (friend) Brianna (friend)

Personality: a creature fanatical and gay. He eventually follows his family desire to see him with a woman, though, for reproduction's sake. He is the studious quite type, but he gets overexcited with creatures; he is rather cute and has a fair understanding of power plays although he sees it in a more animalistic approach.

Mannerisms: Cross arms when in defensive, strokes chin when thinking, accidentaly makes innuendos

Greatest flaw: Obsessive

Best quality: Kindness

Duelling style:

\---

Name: Andros Avery

Born: 21st October, 1926

Family: Grogan Avery (father) Elfrida Stump (mother)

Skills: duelling, fighting, quidditch,

Likes: collecting cards, fencing, quidditch, the colour yellow, butterbeer, mugglle clothes, ponytail, killing, azalea (temperance)

Dislikes: history, politics, enclosed places, labyrinths,  academics, studying;

School Register: Student of Hogwarts. Duelling Club, Fencing Club. Care and  Muggle Studies. O in DADA. E in Charms, Transfiguration, Care, Muggle Studies. D in Potions, Astronomy, Herbology. T in History.

Wand:14 inches, phoenix feather, walnut, hard

Appearance: Grey blonde hair (usually tied in a bow, ends at the hip – military short at 1942), black almond eyes, long face, pale skin. Built body, 6’1 feet, 186 Ilbs.

Relationships: Tom (tutor, friend, secret crush) Anya (friend) Flavius (best friend) Archibald Mulciber (friend) Alphard (friend) Demetrius Rowle (friend) Antonin (friend) Dorea (friend) Laws (friend, love interest) Brianna (friend) Demetrius (friend) Caspar Crouch (friend) Ragnar (friend)

Personality: has a rather strong magic, not totally controlled yet, but he is easy to deceive. He follows the idea of a Gryffindor, harsh and careless, but is a Slytherin because of his family. Loyal and clueless, is an warrior and guard of Tom's.

Mannerisms: Falls over obvious sarcasm, chews pen or nails when anxious, rubs hair when frustrated

Greatest flaw: Gulliable, careless

Best quality: Faithful, honest

Duelling style:

Name: Alphard Black

Born: 7th May, 1928

Family: Pollux Black (father) Irma Crabbe (mother) Walburga (sister) Cygnus III (brother) Dorea (aunt) Cassiopeia (aunt) Marius (uncle) Cygnus (grandfather) Violetta (grandmother) Sirius (granduncle) Arcturus (granduncle) Belivina (grandaunt) Phineas (granduncle)

Skills:

Likes: movies, acting, plays, stars, violet colour, jazz, blueberries, bloody mary,

Dislikes:

School Register:

Wand: 13’ inches, phoenix feather,  larch, brittle

Appearance: dark straight hair (jaw length), droopy grey eyes, slight tan, square face, 5’9 feet, 155 Ilbs

Relationships:

Personality: a fun loving guy, who likes to stand for what is right. He is compassionate, a good friend and listener, someone who supports others to achieve their dreams. He is, however, someone who will never be able to achieve his own, of being a movie maker, as he is part of the Black family, who hates muggles, and he fears disappointing his family.

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Walburga Black

Born: 19th December, 1925

Family: Pollux Black (father) Irma Crabbe (mother) Alphard (brother) Cygnus III (brother) Dorea (aunt) Cassiopeia (aunt) Marius (uncle) Cygnus (grandfather) Violetta (grandmother) Sirius (granduncle) Arcturus (granduncle) Belivina (grandaunt) Phineas (granduncle)

Skills:

Likes: pureblood supremacy, torture, power, sex (nympho), dark arts, star gazing, alcohol, cinnamon, coffee

Dislikes: tea, charms, muggles, her fiancée, weakness, mercy, quidditch

School Register:

Wand: 10’ inches, kelpie mane, ebony, rigid

Appearance: dark blonde wavy hair, heart-shape face, hooded pale green eyes, pale skin. 5’6 feet, 121 Ilbs.

Relationships:

Personality: the crazy. She is a bitch, and she is very conscious of it. A pure-blood extremist who is attracted by Tom and dislikes Anya. Yet, she is also a lady of a house. She has great ambitious for her children, for her life. She is adored by house-elves, she is exigent. She is blood-thristy, and aroused by power – her dream is surrounding herself with it.

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Charlus Potter

Born: 9th August, 1927

Family: Henry Potter (father) Anemone Dairwent (mother) Fleamont Potter (brother)  Elaine Potter née Fleamont (paternal grandmother, dies by 1928)  Arwain Derwnt (grandmother)

Skills:

Likes: quidditch, duelling, dragons, transfiguration, fire, the colour red, firewhiskey, pranks

Dislikes: pastries, turtles, astronomy, injustice, laws

School Register:

Wand:12” inches, unicorn hair, dogwood, hard

Appearance: square face, almond forest green eyes, brunette messy hair, 5’11 feet, 170 Ilbs.

Relationships:

Personality: he is a bit arrogant, and conservationist in his beliefs. But he also knows how wrong they are. He is self-centerd, and has problems listening to others, as he always believes to be right. But he is a prankster, a nice guy who doesn’t know what to do with his life.

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Callidora “Ally” Black

Born: 7th March, 1925

Family: Charis (sister) Cedrella (twin sister)

Arcturus Black II (father) Phineas Nigellus Black (grandfather) Ursula Black née Flint (grandmother)  Cygnus (uncle) Ursula (aunt) Pollux (cousin) Irma (cousin in law) Dorea (cousin) Cassiopeia (cousin) Marius (cousin) Sirius (uncle) Hesper (aunt) Arcturus (cousin) Melania (cousin in law) Lycoris (cousin) Regulus (cousin) Belvina (aunt) Herbet (uncle) Elfrida (step cousin) Attila (cousin) Ferbus (cousin) Laelia (cousin)

Lysandra Yaxley (mother) Amycus Yaxley (grandfather)  Epona Black née Carrow (grandmother) Lycurgus Yaxley (uncle) Eleonore Yaxley née Macmillian (aunt) Jehanne (cousin) Nicholas Rowle (cousin in law) Cateline (cousin) Igraine (cousin) Aldith (cousin)

 

Skills:

Likes: adventure, fictional novels, pirates, fencing, quidditch, crochet, children, language flowers, butterbeer, travelling, skating, charms

Dislikes: jewerly, transfiguration, horses, firewhiskey

School Register:

Wand: 14’ inches, phoenix feather, aspen, reasonable supple

Appearance: straight long black hair, oval face, gunmetal blue almond eyes, snub nose. 5’8 ft, 124 pounds.

Relationships:

Personality: the adventurous and supporting. She is the Lily Evans of the story, just, fair, and lovely. She is fierce and she likes adventure. She enjoys joking and doesn’t like her family-rules, but still, she follows them and its more a lady than Cedrella. She is the middle between her sisters, a lady who welcomes people and does not fear to take things to herself. She can argue like hell.

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Cedrella “Ella” Black

Born: 7th March, 1925

Family: Charis (sister) Callidora (twin sister)

Arcturus Black II (father) Phineas Nigellus Black (grandfather) Ursula Black née Flint (grandmother)  Cygnus (uncle) Ursula (aunt) Pollux (cousin) Irma (cousin in law) Dorea (cousin) Cassiopeia (cousin) Marius (cousin) Sirius (uncle) Hesper (aunt) Arcturus (cousin) Melania (cousin in law) Lycoris (cousin) Regulus (cousin) Belvina (aunt) Herbet (uncle) Elfrida (step cousin) Attila (cousin) Ferbus (cousin) Laelia (cousin)

Lysandra Yaxley (mother) Amycus Yaxley (grandfather)  Epona Black née Carrow (grandmother) Lycurgus Yaxley (uncle) Eleonore Yaxley née Macmillian (aunt) Jehanne (cousin) Nicholas Rowle (cousin in law) Cateline (cousin) Igraine (cousin) Aldith (cousin)

 

Skills:

Likes: alchohol in general, love stories, children, water, swimming, running, fashion, skating, arithmancy

Dislikes: sad endings, indoors, juice, butterbeer, hunting, dancing,

School Register:

Wand: 11’ inches, unicorn hair, hazel, unbending (tends to react to her emotional state)

Appearance: straight long black hair, oval face, gunmetal blue almond eyes, snub nose. 5’7 ft, 126 pounds.

Relationships:

Personality: the jealous, possessive. She loves Septimus Weasley with all her heart, and ignores her family for falling in love. She runs away from home, but she is also very possessive of Septimus because she goes through several abortions. She doesn’t like her family and it’s always ignoring them.

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Charis “Aris” Black

Born: 14th July, 1926

Family: Callidora (sister) Cedrella (sister)

Arcturus Black II (father) Phineas Nigellus Black (grandfather) Ursula Black née Flint (grandmother)  Cygnus (uncle) Ursula (aunt) Pollux (cousin) Irma (cousin in law) Dorea (cousin) Cassiopeia (cousin) Marius (cousin) Sirius (uncle) Hesper (aunt) Arcturus (cousin) Melania (cousin in law) Lycoris (cousin) Regulus (cousin) Belvina (aunt) Herbet (uncle) Elfrida (step cousin) Attila (cousin) Ferbus (cousin) Laelia (cousin)

Lysandra Yaxley (mother) Amycus Yaxley (grandfather)  Epona Black née Carrow (grandmother) Lycurgus Yaxley (uncle) Eleonore Yaxley née Macmillian (aunt) Jehanne (cousin) Nicholas Rowle (cousin in law) Cateline (cousin) Igraine (cousin) Aldith (cousin)

 

Skills:

Likes: crochet, singing & talking (never does), dancing, ballet, jazz (never dances), children, pale blue, travelling, skating

Dislikes: piano playing, harp playing, sex, alcohol

School Register:

Wand: 12’ inches, unicorn hair, willow, quite bendy

Appearance: wavy long dark hair, oval face, ice blue almond eyes, snub nose. 5’5 ft, 109 pounds.

Relationships:

Personality: She is really innocent, always believing in love. She follows her father’s desire as always, and latter her husband’s. In her insides, she really suffers. She is the portraying of a Victorian girl, gulliable and dispensable.

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Caelum Nott

Born: 25th September, 1925

Family: Misapinoa Max (mother) Cantankerus Nott (father) Justus Nott (cousin) Morpheus Nott (uncle) Elladora Sewlyn (aunt)

Skills:

Likes: politics, sarcasm, his family, archery, fencing, power, money, tea, horses

Dislikes: quidditch, eating in general, coffee, dogs, mummies,

School Register:

Wand: 9 inches, dragon heartstring, cypress, supple

Appearance: long face, dark short gelled back hair, light droopy eyes, 6’2 feet, 181 Ilbs

Relationships:

Personality: he is the political worm. He follows his father’s teachings blindly, he bows to those more powerful and he buys their personas. He likes to spend money with whatever is there, but he is a family man who actually only cares about his family. He is very sarcastic.  

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Caspar Crouch

Born: 14th November, 1924

Family: Edgar Crouch (father) Elfrida Burke (mother) Belvina Burke (step-grandmother)  Herbet Burke (grandfather) Laelia Burke (aunt) Ferbus Burke (uncle) Attila Burke (uncle)

Skills:

Likes: alcohol, sex, money, music, travelling, the colour green, quidditch, gambling        

Dislikes: potions, researching, politics, liberalism,

School Register:

Wand: 10 ½ inches, dragon heartstring, elm, whippy

Appearance: square face, aquiline nose, high cheekbones, sharp dark eyes, dark blonde gelled back hair, 5’10 ft, 172 Ilbs

 

Relationships:

Personality: He is the proud aristocrat man, an average businessman who appreaciattes the good things of life. He is kind of antisocial  and he usually doesn’t takes action without having a second motive, he is very deceiveing and latter becomes an alcoholic. He is the conservative guy.

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Argo Pyrites

Born: 1st December, 1927

Family: Cyrus Pyrites (father, half-vampire) Olivia Pyrites née Cavell (mother, veela) Aleus Wrangell (half-uncle, vampire)

Skills:

Likes: killing, torture, scream, horror, flowers, sweets, the colour red, wine, travelling, books, paintings, power

Dislikes: romances, animals, charity, the colour yellow, 

School Register:

Wand: 16 inches, dragon heartstring, walnut, fairly bendy

Appearance: white wavy short hair, ghosthly pale skin, dark grey almond eyes, long face, large lips. 6’4 ft, 175 Ilbs

Relationships:

Personality: blood-thristy, cold-hearted, a sadist. He is taken by Tom as his disciple, and its incredible antisocial. Despite everything, he isn’t a psycho, as he is extremely humble and committed to Tom. His most loyal follower.   When he was seven, he watched his veela mother being killed by his half-uncle, a vampire, and according to himself, it was the first time he felt aroused.

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Lucretia Black

Born: 12th January, 1925

Family: Arcturus Black III (father) Melania Macmillian (mother) Orion (brother) Sirius Black II (grandfather) Hesper Gamp (grandmother) Sirius Black II (grandfather) Hesper Gamp (grandmother) Lycoris (aunt) Regulus (uncle) Lyra (cousin, adopted in the status as distant cousin) Dorea (cousin of father)

 

Skills:

Likes: politics, torture, pureblood supremacy, power, wretched places, abandoned places, the colour black, brandy, butterbeer, tea, coffee, mind arts

Dislikes: Italian food, firewhiskey, long floaty dresses, killing, open battles,

School Register:

Wand: 11 inches, dragon heartstring, cedar, solid

Appearance: Ink-black long hair, sunken cheeks, high cheekbones, dark long eyes, full lips, aquiline nose, 5’8 ft 132 Ilbs

Relationships:

Personality: the feminine, ruthless. She is a harsher version of Dorea, a fighter to the core, who is always in high heels. She is the more fighter side of Bellatrix, similar to Walburga, but more of a warrior. She stands for her own bigoted ideals, and she has a rather misanthropic view of the world. With great perception.

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Demetrius Rowle

Born: 15th December, 1925

Family: Oberon Rowle (father) Enola Rowle (mother) Clemency Rowle (sister)

Skills:

Likes: alcohol, gambling, rule-breaking, the unforgiveables, quidditch, fighting, butterbeer, joke products, blood magic

Dislikes: bertie blots, potions, chess, planning, strategy, family

School Register:

Wand:10 inches, phoenix feather, blackthorn, brittle

Appearance: long face, slightly crooked nose, mild-blonde short hair, downturned ice blue eyes, 5’7 ft, 166 Ilbs

Relationships:

Personality: he is a bit of debonair. He likes the illegal things of life and has a bad relationship with his parents simply because he wants to. Later he gets in a fight with Tom and they part their ways. He is much of a bad boy. Enjoys doing the wrong, and it’s unable to listen to others – except to Tom, who made his orders to his mind.

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Clemency Rowle

Born: 18th August, 1928

Family: Oberon Rowle (father) Enola Rowle (mother) Demetrius Rowle (brother)

Skills:

Likes: travelling, jewel, fashion, paintings, music, dancing, magical creatures, pureblood supremacy

Dislikes: singing, bad-humour, loneliness, outdoors, muggles, cheap gifts

School Register:

Wand: 12 inches, unicorn hair, fir, pliant

Appearance: light-blonde hair, almond ice blue eyes, heart-shaped face, skinny. 123 Ilbs 5’2 ft.

Relationships:

Personality: she is an idealistic girl who believes a lot in pureblood supremacy. She is usually a kind girl, a bit bossy and good-humored who loves children. Clemency has lived her whole live protected, believing in whatever they told her, the dotted daughter. She is rotten spoiled, and loves attention.

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Archibald Mulciber

Born: 3rd  March, 1926

Family: Violet Mulciber née Flint (mother)  Ian Mulciber (father)

Skills:

Likes: power, fighting, talking, joking with others, being cool, quidditch, the colour grey, butterbeer

Dislikes: studying, being ignored, spending money, travelling,  tea

School Register:

Wand: 13 inches, unicorn hair, red oak, swishy

Appearance: long face, round blue eyes, dark short hair, hairy eyebrows. 6’2 ft, 167 Ilbs

Relationships:

Personality: a social climber, he is seeking the best chance of upgrading his status. Definitely not the great kind of guy, he kiss the ass of everyone with power. He always search for protection in the others wings.

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Deodor Fronsac

Born: 13th April, 1927

Family: Basil Fronsac (father) Abigail Lewis (mother) Henrietta Fronsac (half-sister)

Skills:

Likes: cooking, baking, books, herbology, duelling, the colour orange, butterbeer, house-elves

Dislikes: alcohol, transfiguration, quiddicht,  disrespect, pureblood supremacy, killing

School Register:

Wand: 13’ inches, alder, unicorn hair, unyielding

Appearance: square face, brunet short hair, tanned, hazel round eyes, 5’6 ft, 146 Ilbs

Relationships:

Personality: he is the nice guy, always going out of his way to please people and make them happy. He is very chivarlious, without being overwhelming, however, he doesn’t know to stand for his opinions. The only contradiction is when talking about his baking;

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Sean Catchlove

Born: 23rd June, 1927

Family: Janelle Kawtbahy Jason Catchlove

Skills:

Likes: quidditch, magical creatures, massage, music, singing, history, tea, cheese, love stories

Dislikes: dancing, coffee, seafood, acting, explaining himself, lying

School Register:

Wand: 9’ inches, phoenix feather, rowan, bendy

Appearance: large lips, long face, freckles, dark blond wavy hair, round almond forest green eyes. 5’7 ft, 156 Ilbs.

Relationships:

Personality: he is an innocent guy, with changeable opinion. When things go wrong in his life, he blames others. He is a good friend, fun-loving, who likes to live in his own small world than face truth.

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

Best quality:

Duelling style

Name: Lyall Lupin

Born: 2nd January, 1928

Family: Maurice Lupin (father) Octavia Arsène (mother) Hope Lupin (muggle wife) Remus John Lupin (son)

Skills:

Likes: magical creatures, muggles, justice, ghosts, books, studying, research, debating, the colour golden, sweets

Dislikes: injustice, morons, pepper, alcohol, pureblood supremacy, prejudice

School Register:

Wand:14 inches, phoenix feather, sycamone, pliant

Appearance: long face, high cheekbones, aquiline nose, hooded cognac eyes, light brunet wavy hair,

Relationships:

Personality: a shy mild-mannered guy, with high sense of justice, a protector and fierce. He is a friend but latter leaves them because they are not as good as he thought they were;

Mannerisms:

Greatest flaw:

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Duelling style

Name: Cassiopeia Black

Family:

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Personality: the low-self-esteem, she has rejected every marriage prospect for fearing being lied to.

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Name: Dominik Meier

Born: 12th November 1925

Family: Marika Bethany

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Personality: Dominik Meier. Born in a small family of light middle-class purebloods who liked to mingle themselves with muggles. When he was seven, his father was killed by a bunch of muggles when he left a jewish theatre – his wand being snapped at the beginning of the aggression. He wasn’t a jew, but the muggles didn’t differentiate. Dominik’s mother never got over that – believing that muggles couldn’t do that. She married a muggle after that.  The man liked the woman a lot, but his mother couldn’t adapt herself to the life besides him and slowly crawled into madness. She confuded her former husband with actual and one day, she snapped, killing the husband. By the time, Dominik was eleven and he would soon go to Durmstrang. He fled from Vienna and housed his mother at Salzburg, but the authorites found his mother while he was away and her husband’s brother got his revenge.

All that experience made Dominik hate muggles and likewise. He believes Anya and Tom are hiding their mudblood statuses behind their lies, but he is not by himself. He was approached by some darker students at Durmstrang in his second year and has come to ally himself with Grindelwald. He is a tight believer of the cause, but his machinations aren’t just that. He can sense power, and he reports Anya’s and Tom’s large cores to the Dark Lord, which instructs him to keep their secrets and discover more.

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Duelling style

Name: Delphine van Tovenaar

Born: 11th January,

Family: Coralline van Tovenaar (sister) Adeline van Tovenaar (mother) Ijsbrand van Tovenaar (father) Ignaas van Tovenaar (brother)

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Appearance: dirty-blonde hair and bottle green eyes, snub nose and tall

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Personality: outspoken and very warm, she invites Anya at her home and gives her address. She has an owl who will serve as Anya’s way of passing a message to ministry and warning them of grindelwald’s attack – when she sees them coming. Delphine’s family starts business with Grindewald and they eventually offer her sister as one of his lovers. Grindelwald refuses, paying much more attention to small sister whose owl some of his spies in the ministry relate to see. One day he catches a glimpse of Anya. Delphine is eventually killed by the dark lord.

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Name: Kyrylo Grinevskii

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Name: Lazar Krum & Veronika Krum

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Name: Igor Karkaroff

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Appearance: Lanky guy, blue cold eyes, hooked nose, thin features

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Personality:  Igor’s father was a muggle, and his mother was a witch. His mother died in childbirth, and his father, obsessed with her, felt into madness. He was neglected and abused, having to deal with the delirious of his mad father and with his violent nature. He is ruthless as his father, and hates muggles because of his family, because they are weak. He is however, a coward with a self-survival instics.   

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Name: Werner Poliakoff

Family: Granduncle Wagner Poliakoff

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That will be able for today. Thank you, my dearest supporters!!


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